


A Pillar I Am Of Pride

by EllynNeverSweet



Category: Mansfield Park - Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: (canonical) adultery, Babies, Bad Matchmaking, Canon Compliant, Elizabeth enjoys tormenting Darcy, Established Relationship, F/M, Fitzwilliam Darcy/hating new acquaintance, Gen, Matchmaking, Not a Song-Fic, neighbours from hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2020-07-19 15:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19976428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllynNeverSweet/pseuds/EllynNeverSweet
Summary: Being a history in several parts of the marriage of Mr James Rushworth and the once and future Maria Bertram, as witnessed by certain of their London neighbours,ORHow Fitzwilliam Darcy’s wife made him dine more than once with the worst couple in the world in the winter of 1814-15.Four years after the end ofPride and Prejudice, Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam Darcy settle in town for winter to network, show off their newest baby, and generally enjoy the season with their friends and family in the optimistic aftermath of Napoleon’s exile to Elba. Their plans go awry, however, when the newly- and unhappily-married Rushworths (ofMansfield Park) move in next door to play out their domestic drama with the Crawford siblings against the backdrop of the Ton generally and the Darcys’ front doorstep in particular.





	1. Chapter 1

It is a truth commonly acknowledged that a newly married couple of means must, above all things, desire a house in town in which to display their felicity. Such is this truth, that a lady, upon being married, must either turn her mind at once to the redecoration of her husband’s house, or, upon finding that he does not possess one, apply to him to rectify this state of affairs by renting or purchasing a suitable place at once, that she might not waste any time in displaying her good fortune to acquaintances new and old.

It was of just such a situation that Mrs Darcy spoke of when she addressed her husband over breakfast one morning in late December, at their home at number eleven — street, very near Grosvenor Square.

‘My dear,’ said his lady, applying herself to buttering the toast before it had gone quite cold, and handing her husband a piece, ‘have you heard that number thirteen is let at last?’

Mr Darcy, who had not yet finished his coffee, nonetheless heard the amusement with which his wife pronounced this phrase, and so raised his eyes from the newspaper he had been browsing to reply that he had not, but that it was a pity. He had thought to recommend the place to his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, since being left idle so late in the year the landlord was sure to welcome a tenant.

‘And do you know who has taken it yet?’ he enquired mildly.

Mrs Darcy smiled at this response, as if at some private amusement, saying that she believed it to be a young couple of the Midlands, newly married, with a sister of one or the other in tow, and that they intended to move in that Tuesday. This was how she had come to hear of it, as the new resident’s man had come to number eleven and to their other neighbours, to explain that there was likely to be a deal of carts and carriages coming and going for the next few days.The house had not been re-furnished since the death of its previous inhabitant, and there was a good deal to do.

Mr Darcy replied that this was not calculated to please his wife’s mother, who was as yet guardian to two unmarried daughters, but that such things could not be helped, and that in any case it might be pleasant to have another couple so near, if they were amiable and of a sort of mind to add to the Darcys' social circle.

To this Mrs Darcy replied that it might not do very well for her sisters, but that it could yet be fortunate for Richard, who was very welcome to stay with them as he had done in the past, if his brother and father could spare him, and if he was willing to put up with the noise of his little cousins and the late hours which Mr Darcy’s younger sister was presently keeping, which were well illustrated by the way in which Miss Darcy had not yet appeared to take her breakfast with them. This statement was perfectly sincere in its meaning and affection, but could not have better pleased Mr Darcy if his wife had calculated it for that single effect. He was not unsocial, but he greatly preferred the company of established intimacy, and relied upon his wife to the very edge of respectability to manage the placement of of new acquaintance in their social calendar. This generally suited the two of them pretty well, as, though Mrs Darcy was by far more lively and out-going than her husband, they shared a sensibility of what was desirable and proper in those they associated with, so that a personality that could please Mrs Darcy was generally able to please her husband as well, and in more or less the same fashion.

Tuesday came and went, with rather more than the few days of inconvenience promised, and the Darcys and their neighbours were obliged to make allowance for extra time in every visit and appointment they had to make, and were several times obliged to refuse or cancel less vital invitations on the grounds of the unceasingly bad weather and heavy traffic, which combinedmade it quite impossible for them to get in or out of their front door in any fashion but by foot, and that with some care. The children, who were accustomed to take daily walks in one of the nearby gardens in all but the worst weather with their parents or nurse, grew quite restive, resorting to wild gymnastics in their nursery and its adjacent hallways, and on at least one occasion, very nearly down the stairs in an alarming fashion. This last caused their father, who had been seated within view of the staircase via an open door, to bolt from his study at a pace never before seen in that house, shattering a tea cup which had been placed at his elbow in the process and quite spoiling the letters he had been writing. This could not, in fairness, be the fault of the couple in number thirteen, but it was enough to make him breathe a very heartfelt sigh of relief when the carts began to grow fewer in number, and a card was left by Mrs Rushworth for Mrs Darcy, indicating that perhaps the larger part of the refitting of number thirteen was at last near completion if the house was in enough order to admit guests.

Mrs Darcy duly went to wait on Mrs Rushworth, and returned home with a thoughtful air, reporting that she had met that lady and, as it turned out, _her_ sister, staying half an hour with them for tea.

‘They are certainly very fine women, and I suspect exceedingly accomplished,’ she pronounced, and then dimpled and added, ‘I must say I was reminded a little of when I first met Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst, although I think Charles would never have turned out so well had he been the offspring of a baronet, as I am assured Mrs Rushworth and Miss Bertram are. We are invited to dine with them this Thursday. I do hope Richard will not be too disappointed to miss it, but if he is we will make it up to him and invite them here in return once he has settled in.’

Mr Darcy, who knew very well what his wife meant by this reference, and had been shut in so long that he had begun to wish very much for the company of his usual acquaintances, assumed a resigned look at the thought of their likely first excursion in the better part of a week being to the home of a stranger, but merely asked if she knew if anyone else were to dine with them, and if she had met _Mr_ Rushworth.

Mrs Darcy declared that she had not had that honour, but that she had learned that Mr Rushworth was worth twelve thousand a year, and owned a large estate called … Southernton or Sotherton, something of that sort, which he had recently inherited. The gentleman’s new bride had been quite quick on that point, but had otherwise preferred to spend her conversation on other subjects of more immediate import. Alas, Mrs Darcy did not know quite who else might be to dine with them.

At this point, Mr Darcy frowned, asked his wife what the name of of Mrs Rushworth’s sister had been, and then insisted upon referring to to their library for several of Debrett’s works and the newspapers of the last few days until it was at last confirmed that their new neighbours were indeed the daughters of Sir Thomas Bertram of Mansfield Park, which information gave him a rather black look. This sudden burst of research attended to, his wife asked quite why he should find the daughters of this gentleman so objectionable, and Mr Darcy explained that that lady’s family held large estates in the West Indies, and additionally the older brother was known to be a wild sort of bachelor. Mrs Darcy, who always took care to patronise only abolitionist grocers who sourced free produce, looked rather uncertain herself at this, but rallied in the sure knowledge of her own good manners that several years moving in the first society had engendered.

‘Well, that is certainly very bad, but we cannot refuse the invitation now, and you know daughters do not always agree with their fathers — or if they do, it is often as not out of ignorance of there being another opinion to hold on a subject. It may be that we will be able to convert them to the appreciation of Wilberforce, in time, if they are reasonable. You of all people would not turn down the opportunity to test reasoning you think to be wrong.’

Mr Darcy agreed with a little heat that while this was admittedly the case with their established acquaintance, surely she could not think he meant to go to another man’s house and lecture his bride and new sister about the means by which their portions had been obtained, until his wife, laughing, agreed that his manners could certainly never be _that_ bad, and indeed that his manner of arguing with young ladies had generally grown a good deal subtler in the time since they had been married. Then, since he still looked doubtful, she kissed him.

‘We have a great deal of visiting to make up, you know,’ she consoled. ‘It will be easy enough to let the acquaintance wither naturally if they are not to our taste.’

Thursday arrived, and with it, a spell of weather fine enough to take some exercise, in the form of an excursion to visit Mrs Darcy’s aunt and uncle in Gracechurch Street. This was generally a favourite duty, since the Gardiners were a sensible, clever couple not very much the seniors of their Grosvenor Square relatives. Additionally, their children, their mother having finally ceased to increase with her previous regularity, were much inclined to be in need of the younger Darcy children to fill the respective roles of baby and general pet, and to be felt to be superior to for reasons as profound as having the ability to walk more than half-a-dozen steps without needing to hold the furniture _and_ the hand of someone bigger, or be able to recite all the verses of a rhyme which named the major cities of the continent.

A promenade was proposed and agreed to. Mrs Gardiner and Mrs Darcy rapidly fell into a discussion of everything that had been observed being carried into number thirteen, this having been a major occupation of the latter as a result of the past wet and freezing week, and a comparison of those described items with the goods displayed in the Gracechurch shop windows. Thus occupied the ladies quickly outpaced the gentlemen, who were engaged in talking over the items that each had noted in the newspapers and in comparing opinions on what the outcomes of such events were likely to be. They continued in this happy fashion for an hour or so until it began to sleet again, at which point they were forced to take refuge in a shop until a car could be secured, and meanwhile obliged the shopkeeper by their purchases.

Thus fortified, the Darcys returned home rather cold and damp but with good spirits, and, restored by a change of clothes and a warm fire, were in tolerably good temper to dine with the Rushworths.

The party assembled was not overly large, consisting besides their host, hostess and her sister, of the Greys, a middle-aged couple who lived year-round at number fifteen, the Honourable Mr John Yates, who seemed a sort of a general hanger-on and was very slightly known to Mr Darcy, and Miss Crawford, a pretty woman a little younger than Mrs Darcy, who was described as the particular friend of Mrs Rushworth’s family.

It was just the sort of slightly off-balance grouping that was to be expected of a new hostess in a new house, but as Mrs Darcy had grown up in a house where her father had been outnumbered at table six-to-one, such a thing was not like to give her any trouble. Mrs Darcy, given prominence by their hostess, seated herself to the right of her host at the base of the table in the fashionable manner that prevailed in London of interspersing ladies and gentlemen, with Mrs Grey across the table to her left, and was quick enough to notethat her hostess and her sister hovered formoment in uncertainty, in a way that suggested that at home they were used to the more old-fashioned style which seated each sex within their own cluster. This observation gave her hope concerning her previous equivocations on the ladies’ characters to her husband, since it seemed likely that ladies who had grown up under such antique conventions must have likewise had antique views impressed upon them by the parental hand.

Mr Rushworth’s conversation _did_ give her trouble, however. He was a dull, heavy man, who applied himself to his plate with steady regularity, and what little conversation he provided lacked wit or insight, either in the instigation of or the reply to a topic. To her right was an empty chair, and further along the table, Miss Crawford, listening with polite interest to Mr Grey as he expounded upon his latest letter to the Royal Society. Mr Darcy had been given the place of honour to the right of Mrs Rushworth, and was steadily ignoring the unsubtle flirtation of their hostess and making as few responses as could reasonably be considered polite. To his right sat Miss Bertram, sulkingin silence as Mr Yates, pinned between herself and Mrs Grey, politely explained the principles of racehorse breeding to the latter. 

Mrs Darcy, who took great pleasure in lively conversation, was almost prepared to be jealous of her husband, when Mr Rushworth raised the subject of the planned improvement of the house and grounds at his home of Sotherton Court. He had decided - he had very nearly certainly decided, he said, to employ the services of Mr Repton, for he had heard that Mr Repton was much used, and he thought that the location of his house, unfortunately in a low and difficult part of the estate, required the touch of an experienced landscape gardener who might best bring the grounds into the present fashion. This was rather a dubious fit of task to worker, since Repton’s reputation for repeating the same tricks in every attitude was one that Mrs Darcy had heard spoken of as lacking both in good sense and sensitivity to the land, and moreover that gentlemen was no longer in the pink of health. He was a most ingenious landscape painter, and rather seemed to think that great swathes of lake and forest might be picked up and set down as easily as wiping clean the bristles of his brush, while leaving the practicalities of the matter to others. This was the first point in the evening at which Mr Rushworth had managed to carry on a conversation without losing the tail of the subject within two sentences, however, so Mrs Darcy demurred from stating her thoughts on the matter, which did not seem to be required for the continuance of the conversation in any case. She chose instead to ask him whether he had decided on any tasks he might wish particularly wish to see enacted in his improvements.

‘Of course,’ said Mr Rushworth with greater confidence, ‘There is an avenue of oak trees which leads down to the west front of the house which I intend to have cut down. They quite spoil the view. I expect I should anticipate Mr Repton and have them harvested early in the spring as soon as the the weather begins to be fine, so that we might stay a little longer in London and not be much at home to be disturbed by the work. I have heard from my friend Mr Smith a very great deal about how there is such a shortage of wood, so I expect I will be able to able to get some good amount in selling it which I may use for some further repairs, though I have at present no notion of how much it will be.’

He said this with an air of great satisfaction, seemingly glad to have a topic in which he might make himself of some importance. He was also, to the wife of a man who had for almost a decade been master of an estate of at least equivalent size, wrong in almost every aspect. Mrs Darcy saw her husband’s eyes flicker momentarily to the end of the table at which Mr Rushworth sat, and found herself entirely unable to resist temptation.

‘I had no notion,’ she murmured. ‘Do explain it to me.’

Mr Rushworth looked really pleased at this application to his wisdom, and immediately launched into a detailed explanation of what he believed to be the case. It was a remarkable display, for while it must come as no surprise to one who had made a close study of character to find that rich men frequently believe they know more than they do, and neglect to learn what they ought, seldom had these two flaws come together with such ease and totality as in the conversation that now flowed readily as from her host’s lips.

Mr Darcy ceased to speak entirely, and looked in bafflement at his wife, who gave every impression of listening with studious attention to Mr Rushworth.

‘Forgive me,’ she said at last, when he had at last run short of inspiration, which took some some time and repetition, ‘but I fear I have not quite understood your point about how the removal of such a mass of trees might be done. The wood must be full of sap when it is harvested, so as prevent the axes being quite dulled, but — does one pin down the cut wood so that it will dry straight, like blocking a bit of knitting? I fear I can have little experience myself of directing such matters.’

‘Not quite,’ said her host enthusiastically, and repeated himself with rather less coherency, having earlier been obliged by his talking to apply himself several times to his wine glass to relieve the dryness of his throat.

She risked a quick glance to her husband as the removes were made, managed to smile demurely at him, and for her pains received a quick grimace of sympathy that threatened to undo her composure so completely she was forced to reach for her wine to disguise her amusement. She talked for the next course to Mr Yates, who enjoyed theatre tremendously and, it seemed, indiscriminately. This was safe ground, although several times Mrs Darcy had to beg him not to ruin the climax of a play she had not had the chance to attend, and at last was obliged to infer as delicately as she might that she had not managed to see half of what she had wanted the previous season, being not then in a state of health to allow her to stay out so late of an evening. Mr Yates, who was a bachelor, merely looked blank at this and politely hoped that she was better now.

‘Quite so,’ said she, ‘although I fear my little complaint still keeps me up of nights on occasion. It causes my poor husband some anxiety.’

‘Blotted letters, certainly,’ observed that gentleman, who had the previous day ruefully declared that the tea-spoiled correspondence had been his just comeuppance for complaining how the weather left him at loose ends andunable to attend to his business as he usually did.

Miss Bertram considered this a fine display of sensibility in one married so very many years, and, commending Mrs Darcy on her husband’s tenderness with jealous sincerity, gave a yearning look to Mr Yates that might have done better on Drury Lane than at a dining table.

Miss Crawford, who seemed to be the only person at table who had grasped the sense of this exchange, twitched her lips in merriment. She did not choose to make the joke obvious to her acquaintance, however, instead murmuring that such long illnesses could be very troublesome, but that Mrs Darcy no doubt bore them very well.

The sweet returned her to Mr Rushworth’s conversation, and this time Mrs Darcy ventured the topic of what enrichment of mind and pleasure the Rushworths hoped to find for themselves in London. Mr Rushworth was evidently disappointed to lose Sotherton as a topic, and often referred back to it in references rather less oblique than he imagined them to be, but otherwise expounded with as much enthusiasm as previously on the merits of his club, his tailor — ‘for it is a point of great importance for a man as tall as myself to be always correct in dress. The eyes are always turned towards the tallest figure in the room, you know,’ — and the many charming acquaintance to be made at the casino table. Once or twice Mrs Darcy observed Mrs Rushworth turning a disapproving eye on her husband, but this censure seemed directed chiefly at his volubility rather than any particular point he made. As for Mr Darcy, who once again was struggling to maintain any semblance of attention to his own conversation while endeavouring to better overhear his wife’s, she dared not look him in the eye.

At length the last dishes were removed, and as Mr Rushworth continued to speak without sign of tiring or loss of his partner’s attention, Mrs Rushworth eventually rather irritably suggested at his next drawing of breath that the ladies remove to the drawing room and leave the gentlemen to their port.

‘Lopping down an oak avenue in a valley and growing lawn instead, on a _drive._ I hope he is prepared to have his guests wiped clean of mud at the door every time it rains for more than two days together, if they can even make it through the bog. If I thought he had the wit for such a ploy I would suspect him of trying to put off his wife’s family from visiting,’ declared Mr Darcy as soon as their own door had shut behind them. ‘Really, Elizabeth, I could not believe my ears. Do you know he tried to give me advice on the management of Pemberley while we were at the port, and would not leave off until I nearly said I would consider it? I hope you are pleased.’

‘Extremely,’ said his wife. ‘I suspect I will make a friend of Miss Crawford, and even if I do not I have supplied myself with material for at least two letters to Papa. I suspect he will almost promise to come to London if we swear to invite him to dinner with Mr Rushworth. I did think his wife seemed cross with him, although I do not think he needs wit to make her so.’

Mr Darcy gave his wife a fond look. ‘You are teasing me, and it is not fair. I thought for half the meat that you were serious in not understanding the principles of wood husbandry.’

‘That,’ said she, taking his gloves and hat to lay neatly aside with her own, ‘is no decent way to compliment me, sir. It will not do to praise my cleverness in generality and deny it in the particulars, _or_ to imply that I do not listen when you speak. I will be inclined to be cross with you if you do not leave off doubting me.’

This last was said with a smile as he helped her remove her fur-lined pelisse and muff and replaced these with a favourite shawl, fussing rather unnecessarily with the the folds where it lay over the low neckline of her evening gown in a way that made her shiver.

‘Come out of the hallway,’ he said solicitously, adding, with a closer attention than was quite proper in one of the public rooms of the house, ‘I think it is too cold for you here.’

‘Mr Rushworth will be in for a nasty shock when he realises that Repton only paints, and expects his clients to arrange the actual work of the improvement. I cannot imagine him capable of sourcing a dozen different species of saplings and seeing a new weir properly built when he cannot locate the salt cellar at his own table,’ said Mr Darcy rather later, repositioning the counterpane, having evidently woken enough to venture briefly from the bed to which he now returned.

Mrs Darcy opened an eye in vain, since he had declined to leave the candle alight on reaching the bed, and settled for repositioning herself to take better advantage of the warmth of the bed-warmer. ‘ _Mmmm,’_ said she.

‘I have never heard such nonsense in my life,’ declared her husband, in what she considered to be an excess of dudgeon for such an hour, whatever that hour might be.

Such an outburst demanded some response, and she sought for something coherent. ‘It is very ridiculous, to be sure. Do go back to sleep, Fitzwilliam.’

‘Assuming that Pemberley would need the help of an improver suggested by him! I would rather take such a reference as a means of elimination.’

‘ _My dear_ ,’ she said, warmth and exasperation quite mingled in her tones as she came awake. ‘If you do not leave off this subject until the morning I will invite the Rushworths to dinner every week this season, and oblige you to set an example for them of how a happy couple behaves towards one another.’

This threat was a little mangled, but it had more or less the effect she hoped, since her husband appeased her by lying down again with only a moderate amount of huff, which would hardly have been detectable had he not forgone the inconvenience of fussing with the bedclothes in favour of pulling her against him.

‘Ridiculous,’ he muttered.

‘Yes, you are,’ said his wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came about during a re-read of _Mansfield Park_ as I was musing on the argument that Austen wrote quite a lot of that book as a rebuttal of the surface characterisations in _Pride and Prejudice,_ and found myself wondering what would happen if Austen’s cleverest, second-richest male romantic prospect, Fitzwilliam ‘hardly ever in a mood to give consequence to anyone’ Darcy, met his duller, but wealthier literary successor, James ‘it’s a pity his money can’t buy a personality or intelligence’ Rushworth. This lead to some research into what constituted sensible land management in the Regency, and mostly left me confused by how to match up Sotherton and Pemberley as equivalent estates (anyone who has a primer on how to be a terrible landlord that other gentlemen pour scorn upon, hit me up). 
> 
> The title is, naturally, a line from Hozier’s _Dinner and Diatribes,_ in which our hero’s lover torments him by making him sit through boring dinner parties before taking him home for a good ravishing. 
> 
> https://ellynneversweet.tumblr.com/


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Darcys have some more enjoyable company than they did last chapter, and host a dinner party that takes a weird turn at the end in spite of Lizzy's best efforts.

There was little improvement to be had in the weather in the days following that first dinner at number thirteen — street, as winter had settled in to stay, but, as promised, the major furnishings were for the most part delivered at last. Mrs Darcy, who had been almost as impatient to be able to be out of doors again as her husband, at once took the opportunity of having the freedom of her own front door to pay what must have been the most pressing of her dues, in the form of a visit to the Countess of Matlock.

She was accompanied only a little reluctantly by Miss Darcy, who had found that maturity and good female company could give her ease in the crush of the _Ton_ in a way that money and a good name had not, and as such had at last begun to enjoy the season in a way she had not in the first years after her trembling debut. The society of the matrons of her family, however pleasant and intelligent, could not compare to the enjoyment that might be had in the action or anticipation of time spent with companions her own age, and she found it necessary besides to have some time to rest and meditate alone, in order not to feel herself exhausted when next she met with company.

The visit was insisted upon, however. A mix of company and conversation was considered necessary by her guardians, and besides, Mrs Darcy felt that the sight of Miss Darcy might help to assuage such feelings of the Countess as she thought were likely to be expressed upon her arrival.

Her suspicions were confirmed almost at once upon arriving at Matlock House, for no sooner had the ladies divested themselves of their warmest outer layers than Lady Risingham had scurried anxiously down the stairs to greet them, transforming her salute into an crouching embrace by clasping Mrs Darcy at the elbows to whisper, under the pretext of kissing the air above her cheek in the french fashion, ‘I am afraid you are in for it, Lizzy. Mother is vexed about Richard,’ before stepping back to greet Miss Darcy, who had overheard her whisper and looked unhappy.

Mrs Darcy merely straightened her shoulders at this news. ‘I suppose,’ she said, ‘I haven’t had the good luck to be early enough to hear a rebuke in person? I should hate to have to sit at my work in company and feel myself heated by a glare, no matter how cold the day.’

Her luck held, for no sooner than had they been announced into the countess’s large drawing room than the firm tones of that lady began to toll. ‘Mrs Darcy,’ declared Lady Matlock, laying down her teacup with the force of a judge laying down his gavel, ‘I am most grievously vexed with you.’

Mrs Darcy folded her hands in contrition, fighting a smile. ‘I am sorry to hear it, madam. May I know my sins?’

Lady Matlock _harrumphed_ a little at this. ‘I think you know them very well. I have been waiting almost a year to see my son, and now he returns to London in triumph and I find that you and my nephew have conspired to spirit him away to wait upon you, and so put all my plans into disarray.’

Mrs Darcy curtsied at this, though she had already given her salute, and the Countess gave an irritated gesture which encompassed the waiting chairs and lounges. Mrs Darcy selected one close to her hostess, and pulled her sister-in-law down beside her. Lady Risingham sank down upon the chaise longue which was considered to be her special property, as she had long ago found that the fashion for reclining was one of the few postures in which she might appear graceful, her long figure furled slantwise rather than cramped to fit a chair set too low for her height. It was her happy lot in life to have married a man as tall as she was, and her equally unhappy lot that her mother-in-law had been already a matron of set tastes when the fascination with the ancients had taken hold of the fashionable world, and so held herself as rigid and unbending as if she spent every day in court dress. Lady Matlock, for all her famed charity and hospitality, was nonetheless pleased to be the unquestioned mistress of her own sphere, and her admiration for spirit and intelligence in women did not admit preference for those qualities in those ladies who fell under her direct domestic influence.

‘I am vexed,’ repeated that lady, ‘for I have spent near a decade trying to find some appropriate match for my son, and no sooner do I think that I have fixed upon the lady who would suit him best, than he trips off to the peninsula with no promises made, and by the time he is ready to be in town again I am forced to tell him that his lady has married another. I do not begrudge you, my dear,’ she said, reaching out to pat Miss Darcy’s hand, ‘for the duty he has had to you, but your brother has not been a bachelor in years and ought to be more mindful of his cousin’s needs, now that you are a little more grown. I suppose Richard must meet some ladies escorting you about town, but he would seem positively ancient to any he so meets if he acts as your chaperone, and that will never do.’

Miss Darcy smiled in a quite impenetrable manner at this statement.

Mrs Darcy and Lady Risingham were saved from giving an answer to this remark by a fortuitous chiming of the clock on the mantelpiece, which served the Countess as a reminder of the preparations still to be made for the arrival of the party who had been invited to attend her that day, and shortly thereafter, by the arrival of those same persons, who together constituted a significant portion of the of the wives and female relations of the body of lords and honourable ministers presently busying themselves at Westminster.

The party assembled, they were soon set to work. The countess had determined upon becoming a keystone of society shortly after her marriage, and had succeeded admirably, crafting a reputation for herself as a hostess supporting her husband’s political work that was maintained through a careful balance of generosity, accomplished discussion, worthy tasks, and entertaining events. Her dinner tables were laid with great quantities of portuguese wine, and routinely hosted those lords and members her husband hoped to make or keep as allies, judiciously supplementing these honourable worthies with such gentlemen as might be able to lend their advice or pocketbook to the causes of the moment.

Her afternoon charity parties were perhaps a truer measure of her influence, however, though their attendants, often greater in number, were as not marked by partisanship as were her dinners. That this cross-pollination of familial views might have occurredby design was rarely considered by the attendant ladies’ husbands, who were often as not merely relieved to think that the scourge of political activism had not spread into their own domestic spheres. At charity parties such as these she made work such a pleasure to the ladies involved it was difficult to discern whether the ladies themselves or the objects of their charity received more benefit, and the conversation, leavened with the generosity of those who already believe themselves to be doing good at no expense to themselves, was frequently turned to how even further good might be done by working upon one’s husband to support those bills laid out by the Earl and his allies.

Lady Matlock had laid out packets of pins and needles, a dozen ells of slubby linen, spools of thread, and a half-dozen shirts cut out and ready to be pinned and tacked together, depending on the preference of her guests. Miss Darcy, being a little awkward with a needle but a neat hand with a pencil, was pressed into service with ruler, pounce bag and pierced papers to mark guidelines for smocking on the smallest shirts. Lady Risingham was put to work overseeing the smoothing out of lengths of linen on the appropriated dining table and was given the sole honour of wielding the shears, lady Matlock being unwilling to risk anyone else marking her highly-polished mahogany. Mrs Darcy, whom lady Matlock considered a protégéand tolerated with good humour all the better for her being not a member of her household, was stationed at the coffee pot, while Lady Matlock sat enthroned before the tea to greet her guests. As her guests arrived, she whispered her approval to Mrs Darcy of the selected misses and ladies whose mothers had received that day’s invitation prepared with particular care, and Mrs Darcy looked on them with a skeptical eye. They were, to a one, young, sweet, and inoffensively accomplished, distinguishable from one another only by the colours of their hair and ribbons.

A fine selection of work bags and boxes were soon on display, each lady taking the opportunity to show off her matching scissors, stiletto and delicate needle case, which the those items provided by Lady Matlock soon disappeared into. The two apprentice artists from the Royal Academy who had been invited by the countess to draw the ladies at work moved about the room to catch the finest attitudes on display, watched with gimlet eye by the chaperones present. This was among the most popular of the entertainments the countess provided, and the one which had made her a success early in her career. The young artists she selected would draw the parties at work, making a day’s stealthy meal of the biscuits and cakes on offer, and would have the opportunity to sell those sketches or other such samples of their work they could carry in a folio to the assembled guests. For the part of the guests, they might have a candid sketch of themselves nobly employed in a manner that showed to best advantage the fine turn of their hands and arms.

The quantity of new arrivals requiring introduction and refreshment began to trail off, although since not everyone had yet appeared their hostess and her family were not free to walk about the room to make conversation, not yet could they be assured sufficient privacy to address the topic Lady Matlock had raised so keenly earlier. It was in one of these uncomfortable lulls when Mrs Darcy was not engaged in work or conversation that Lady Matlock stood even more upright than usual to greet her newest guest, Lady Stornaway, who had received a card, her sister Mrs Fraser, who had not, and Mrs Fraser’s own guest. Lady Stornaway, who was young and expensively dressed, in turn introduced her friend, whom she had taken the liberty to bring along as she was staying with Mrs Fraser and her husband. This friend, it so happened, turned out to be none other than the Miss Crawford whom Mrs Darcy had met when she had dined at the Rushworths'.

Mrs Darcy’s smile was very genuine as she renewed the introduction, and returned with what seemed real pleasure on Miss Crawford’s part, so that some friendly words passed between them while Miss Crawford’s coffee was poured, before she was borne away by Lady Stornaway and Mrs Fraser.

Lady Matlock declared in an undertone that Lady Stornaway was exactly what she had expected when she heard Lord Stornaway had married, and was glad she was not some poor creature who would quake to be looked at. All was not lost, perhaps. _He_ was quite worthless, but she might be worked upon.

At length the rhythm of the gathering allowed Mrs Darcy to venture some way from the coffee pot without fear of neglect, and, after making some cheerful remarks to her more regular companions, she found Miss Crawford sitting beside the chiffonier that their hostess kept stocked with her embroidery books and pattern magazines, reading one of the newest subscriptions. She blushed when Mrs Darcy sat beside her, commenting on the pretty pattern she was studying, and hastily closed the article with an exclamation. ‘You will think me very silly, but while I am a most accomplished fashion-plate, I am very bad at sewing shirts. I rarely did it growing up, you know, and now that I am out, I confess I do not care for sewing except that I may show myself off to advantage. But I hope you do not think me lazy. I should hate to make a poor impression on you.’

Mrs Darcy replied that she did not think so at all, and, laughing, said that she herself had come late to the frequent production of shirts — ‘for my father was not such a profligate or sporting man as to make much work for a wife and five daughters, but now I am saddled with two boys who sprout an inch every time I turn my back, and a husband who is most particular about his dress.’

Miss Crawford smiled at this. ‘You should do as my aunt did, then, and make him take up needle and thread himself. _You_ can have no fear of him surpassing you in skill, as she did, since my uncle is a naval man and could work up a shirt as quick as a sail. I think his resentment of the task was nearly as great as hers was at his ability.’

‘Oh,’ laughed Mrs Darcy. ‘I do not mind it, really. I should be happy to start you off, if you like.’

Miss Crawford assented to this, as, said she, the work was only for the poor, after all, who could not be so particular as to reject her work. As the work progressed, they fell quite naturally into a discussion which, encompassing the domestic tasks, turned rapidly to the unsettled state of Miss Crawford’s own private sphere. She had been raised with a most-beloved brother by the aunt and uncle of whom she spoken, her own parents having died when she was young, but on the death of that aunt had removed to the home of her half-sister, whose husband had been granted a living by Mrs Rushworth’s father, and her time visiting at that family’s estate had been the closest she had come to being settled in her life.

‘We were always moving about to follow the Admiral’s business, and I really believe that Ihave lived out of a travelling trunk every year of my life. The closest I came to a regular address was at school in town and now I move from guest-bedroom to guest-bedroom — always welcome, I hope — between the houses of one friend or other as they find themselves some rich husband and then find themselves in need of distraction from him.’

‘Have you no home of your own, then?’

‘None at all! Oh but do not think me a charity case, I beg you. It is settling I want, not security. My brother inherited our father’s estate of Everingham, where we were both born, but we left it so young I hardly feel any connection to it except as _his,_ and I have no intention of keeping house where I may soon be justly turned out in favour of a wife. I am too fond a sister to want to put myself in the way of being jealous of any attachment of his, since I really could not bear to be at odds with him. For myself I have a very comfortable fortune of my own for when I _do_ marry, but I don’t know at all when that is likely to be. I am determined to make a very good match, and will not be hurried into a mistake.’

Mrs Darcy was most thoughtful at this. 

One afternoon, a few weeks after the dinner at the Rushworths’, the Darcys at last received their long-desired guest. There was a sudden flurry of activity in the hallway and Colonel the Honourable Richard Fitzwilliam burst into the rear sitting room with nearly as great a tail of noise as if he had preceded his whole regiment, rather than merely a butler, footman, batman, and collection of trunks.

Mrs Darcy’s hand flew to her mouth in a gesture for silence that did not disguise her smile. Colonel Fitzwilliam spread his hands expressively, giving an affectionate, if whispered, salute, bowing over her offered hand and asking after her health.Drawing up a chair, which he took care to lift entirely from the carpet before setting it down again, he seated himself beside her and then addressed himself to the baby flopped bonelessly against her shoulder, nearly invisible under layers of wool and linen.

‘You look a picture from a nursery book, Lizzy. Can this be my little namesake then? I swear he’s doubled in size since his christening.’

‘Of course. You may test his weight to exhaustion yourself once he’s woken up, so long as you promise not to speed him along to it. He is very nearly as demanding as Aunt Catherine at the moment, and will hardly suffer to be put down. I had to spirit him out of the nursery before Ned went quite to pieces in sympathy.’

Colonel Fitzwilliam made a little moue of sympathetic amusement, very lightly touching the little jacket. ‘Have you tried giving him a set of redcoat dollies? He could practise yelling them into line, and perhaps by the time he’s old enough for a set of colours there’ll be another war to win. Is your husband home, by the by? Your man was so busy making sure Wyatt didn’t get any muck from my trunks on the aubusson that I didn’t like to interrupt him for an answer.’

Mrs Darcy gave him a dry look that suggested that at less than a year old, she might yet be too sensitive on the topic of her second son’s safety to wish him into a glorious military career. ‘He is not, but he will be sorry to have missed your arrival. We have been penned in by one misfortune after another so far this season, and he has gone on a flying visit to his lawyer to sign some document or other, and thence to the wine-merchant, in preparation for your visit. Georgiana is in her apartment, making some adjustments to her wardrobe, or I am sure she would already be here to greet you. _I,_ ’ she said grandly, ‘being one-armed at present, am putting together a dinner for you to meet our new neighbours, but as I am short of at least one gentleman to make up the numbers at present, and Fussy has threatened to discuss only the breeding of new potato varieties all evening if I do not include some more known whig sympathisers among our guests, I am a little at a loss as to whom I should pick. I am attempting stealth, you see, lest I permit a young friendship to be exposed to a torrent of unvarnished political debate. Have you anyone you would like to suggest?’

Colonel Fitzwilliam gave a doubtful look to the cards arranged on Mrs Darcy's work table. ‘Have you some sort of school next door? I was under the impression it was a pair of newlyweds. I recall receiving rather a detailed account.’

Mrs Darcy sighed. ‘They appear to move about in a sort of swarm, I am afraid. The Rushworths and her sister are the only ones _actually_ living there, but Miss Bertram seems capable of the most fearful sulks unless she has their intimate friends to cling to —’ she hastened to amend this, belatedly admitting to herself that she ought not wish to bias him towards a poor first impression of an unknown feminine quantity, ‘which I will excuse in a country-reared lady of tender years, and as they are all together in the house so constantly I cannot see how to invite only some of them without giving offence. I have some idea of inviting the Fitzwilliam’s cousin Anne and her new husband, since they will quit Bath and come here soon. Have you met him yet?’

Colonel Fitzwilliam had not, since the Elliots were but distantly connected to Mr Darcy through a late cousin of his father, who had been unwise in her choice of husband. They were thus very rarely in society with her relatives, and the acquaintance reached no further, since they could boast of no relation at all to the Fitzwilliams. Although, on hearing of the marriage the colonel _had_ thought he might recognise her husband’s name from the naval lists that were forever floating about in the reports at the bottom of his writing desk.

‘Well, you will like him. Anne would bear with Mr Rushworth as patiently as she bears with her father, I am sure, though I fear I shall have to send her half the greenhouse to absolve myself for putting her through such an event. Her husband seems another matter, however, not the sort who suffers fools gladly.I am a little suspicious that if I put my husband and Captain Wentworth at table together in this particular company without some dampening we may not survive the resultant sarcasm, even with _your_ excellent manners to help the conversation along.’

‘Disloyal of you to think I would not assist my own cousin in whatever endeavour he chose, anyway. What about Mr and Mrs Bingley? You may abuse their kindness to any extent, I am sure.’

This was impossible, since Mr Bingley had stayed too long over business in York and had by consequence elected to wait for better roads rather than trap his whole family in a succession of coaching inns while they crept towards London. They were not to be looked for within the required time for a welcome dinner.

‘Well, then, what about Vivian? He and Georgiana can keep each other entertained.’

Mrs Darcy countered that inviting the Colonel’s younger brother was rather more in the spirit of a family gathering than a dinner party designed to expand his circle of new acquaintance, and that Colonel Fitzwilliam would no doubt see Vivian just as soon as he had made his courtesies to his parents and been able to escape to Darcy House. ‘But _if_ you are able to drag him out of whatever swamp or fen he is presently residing in I will of course invite him. Although in that case I must first extract a promise from _both_ of you to mind his conversation and not permit him to yammer about frogs as if he were at billiards in Cambridge.’

Colonel Fitzwilliam was not successful in persuading his brother to make good enough time to attend his welcome dinner at Darcy House, for that young gentleman’s studies had turned to a fascination with the properties of hibernation, and he was busy alarming his parents with an insistence on clambering about in his shirtsleeves in the cold and wet to further his enquiries. Of these escapades little was heard from Vivian himself, who was an indifferent, tardy correspondent, but much had been made of them in the reports of the housekeeper at the Earl’s estate.

This was not a cause to repine for Mrs Darcy, however, for she had long since invited Miss Crawford to visit with her on any occasion she might find herself at — street. This had proved to be often, and, as both women tended to activity, they often took their meetings to the parks or gardens that must stand in for a shrubbery in town. Shortly before the date set, Miss Crawford, fairly bubbling with excitement, had told Mrs Darcy that her brotherwas unexpectedly returned to town. This neatly solved Mrs Darcy’s dual wishes, the first of which was to meet such a one as whom Miss Crawford really thought well of, for while she seemed unsettled in her opinion of most of her present companions and family she was effusive in her praise of Mr Crawford, and the second of which was an ever more pressing requirement for another gentleman to provide balance for her table. An invitation was extended for Mr Crawford to join them at dinner, and his sister made assurances for his ready acceptance and his excellent manners.

The evening was, for the most part, about as much of a success as Mrs Darcy had expected it to be. Near half the table were well-enough acquainted with the army and navy to provide an unceasing cheerful flow of detailed anecdotes and explanations as to the recent defeat of Napoleon, and the conversation was steady and amiable. Conversation could not be expected to sparkle undimmed in the present company, but it was regular and had enough moments of amusement that she did not feel herself remiss as a hostess in her choice of guests. The table was excellent, for she had learned early in life the tremendous assistance that a finely prepared dish might present in aiding stumbling conversations or extinguishing unpleasant ones, and her marriage had given her the opportunity to refine her menus to heights undreamed of by her mother.

Mrs Darcy had returned the honours paid them on their visit to number thirteen, and had seated Mr Rushworth besides herself, and Mrs Rushworth at the place of honour beside her host. In deference to her husband’s feelings and to Lady Matlock’s seasonal objectives, Mrs Darcy had placed Miss Crawford at her husband’s elbow, opposite Colonel Fitzwilliam, so that much of the conversation might be naturally turned to the opinions and accomplishments of the latter two. The conversation between Mr Darcy and Mrs Rushworth was slight, for though Mrs Rushworth was as keen to be thought pleasing by her hosts as she had hoped to be found on their previous meeting, his chilly courtesy towards her charms and perfect indifference to each avenue she sought to lead the discussion down made her hesitate more than once. She fixed her attention determinedly upon him, however, and each time Mr Darcy glanced at his sister or cousin or wife, talking complacently with their dining partners, Mrs Rushworth found herself mirroring his gaze.

Mr Crawford, whose manners were as gentlemanlike and charming as his sister had promised, was seated halfway down the table, paired with Miss Darcy, and spoke quietly and pleasantly of his own country pursuits — of riding and hawking and shooting, and the improvements he had made at his own estate, until at length the meal drew near to its end, and it seemed he wished for some greater response than he had received.

He could not stand these long hours indoors in winter, they quite sapped the spirit, did not Miss Darcy agree?

Miss Darcy demurred that pleasant employments might be found in or out of doors, should one care to seek them out, although the air was better out of doors in the country.

Mr Crawford assented readily to this, and asked if Miss Darcy rode.

She did, with her sister-in-law.

There was a pretty path he had recently had cleared on his estate, for his sister had developed a great fondness for riding during their long summer in the Midlands, and he meant to add some ladies' horses to his stable, though he could not of course purchase a worthwhile animal at this time of year for any amount of money. He confessed himself quite ignorant of what might please a lady in a mount, and asked if Miss Darcy had any notions on that score.

Miss Darcy said that she was very fond of her own horses, and that the present issue of the family lines had acquitted themselves very well in Surrey the previous June . As far as the choice of mount went, she understood the management of breeding lines was a complicated task, and that it was sensible for someone who was rarely at their estate to choose to purchase their horses instead. Perhaps he might ask her brother’s adviceover the port.

Mr Crawford changed paths at this, saying he had been meaning to take in some shows while he was in town and did not trust the judgement of Mr Yates, who had the bad taste to enjoy everything. Had she any recommendations to make? He would like to secure a box.

Miss Darcy was full of regret, but she found the theatre too loud to attend more than occasionally, although she had sent her cousin clipped reviews of all most promising performances and had promised to accompany him to whichever one he preferred.This remark garnered an indulgent look from Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was engaged in the relation of a lively anecdote to Miss Crawford. Mr Crawford matched the Colonel’s expression, and redoubled his efforts to please, determined to garner some smiles from his solemn companion.

He had recently conceived a passion for reciting in home theatricals — Mr Yates had introduced them all to the pastime, and he had found it delightful. They had played at _Lovers Vows_ — he would be happy to speak a piece of it to her, if she liked. How wonderful it was to have such gifts of great men’s eloquence to assist one in the expression of feeling. He had always enjoyed reading Shakespeare and had found it remarkable he had not earlier realised that, the former pleasure encompassing the latter, he should not have gained an appreciation for performance earlier in life. Though of course one must bow, and gladly, to the superiority of England’s greatest pen. Had Miss Darcy a favourite play?

Miss Darcy at first looked uncertain at this, almost upset, and then said in only slightly quavering tones that she was fond of _Much Ado About Nothing,_ since her family would sometimes recite it to one another — although her dog, loyal thing that he was, tended to bark at the more lively speeches.

Mrs Darcy did not quite choke at this, but it was a near thing, and Mr Darcy looked better pleased than he had all evening. Colonel Fitzwilliam aimed a conspiratorial smile at Miss Crawford, who had turned a wary eye upon her host and and did not see it.

Mrs Rushworth spoke, her tones gay and brittle as an old mirror. ‘Mr Crawford, are we not to wish you joy this evening? Surely my cousin cannot have failed to accept you by now. She was always a very stupid creature, but even a Fanny must have some sense occasionally.’

Silence fell upon the table like a holland cover. Mrs Wentworth fixed her eyes upon her plate, and Captain Wentworth looked as if he had been stung. Mrs Darcy, too shocked for words, thought she must resolve upon losing the whole greenhouse in penance, rather than half, and could not bring herself to look away from Mrs Rushworth long enough to decide if the startled anger on her husband’s face was directed at anyone in particular. Colonel Fitzwilliam laid down his knife with exquisite precision, making a tiny _chink_ that echoed in the silence.

Mr Crawford had never lost his smile, though for a moment it had become as fixed as a grecian mask. ‘Your cousin is so modest a creature, my dear Mrs Rushworth, that she does not know her own qualities. I have not lost hope that she might be brought to an understanding of them by the recognition of others, and then I will be the happiest of men.’

Miss Crawford took up the second part of the round. ‘Indeed, Miss Price is _such_ a fine little creature, I have never seen the like. You know, I really think it is only her own too-modest appraisal of her own value that holds her back from being properly engaged as we all wish. Such a wonderful delicacy in a girl so young! I should really love to have her for my sister, and then we might all be relatives as well as friends. Would that not be nice?’

Affirmation then came from a most unexpected quarter. Mr Rushworth spoke ponderously, with the air of a man only presently catching the thread of the conversation.‘Are you to marry Miss Price, then, Mr Crawford? I am very happy for you, she is a good creature. Not very pretty, and short, not a good figure, certainly not so fine as Mrs Rushworth, but then, she is not from such a good family, on her father’s side. I never heard of them until I married Maria. But she is helpful, you know, very patient. Do you know,’ he said, turning to Mrs Darcy, ‘that we put on _Lovers Vows_ at Mansfield Park. Or, rather, we would have, but in the end Sir Thomas came home and everyone was too busy to go on with rehearsals. It was such a shame, for I was to play Count Cassel, and I had nearly got all my speeches memorised — nearly two and forty of them! I know them still, and I think we should attempt it again, since otherwise it will have been quite a waste to remember such a piece. And there was a great deal of finery ordered that could not otherwise be worn, although I do not think much of such things. There was a speech I had to make, that I thought _very_ funny, for I was courting at the time. It went, let me see ‘for a frivolous coxcomb, such as I am,’ he smiled broadly, ‘to keep my word to a woman, would be deceit not expected in me. It is in my _character_ to break oaths in love' — all this, you see, I was to say to Mr Yates, who was playing the _father_ of my dear Maria, as Emilia! Is that not droll, in a man engaged?’ 

Mrs Darcy was almost speechless. ‘Quite,’ she managed. ‘Shall we retire? You must forgive me, I feel myself in need of a restorative.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting, everyone who commented and kudos'd last time. :D
> 
> Sorry for making Anne and Frederick walk-on only roles in this. I couldn't resist the thought that  
> a) introverted, delicate, pretty Anne, who takes after her mother, would be a second cousin of introverted, prissy, pretty Darcy,  
> b) that the Darcys would think marriage to Sir Walter would constitute marrying down, and  
> c) Darcy and Frederick would have a deep friendship based entirely on attempting to out-sick-burn the other. They will probably not play much if any greater role in this fic, but as it's growing in the telling I can't be sure.
> 
> Future chapters are not written yet, the final chapter count is a very rough estimate.
> 
> Mr Rushworth's butchered lines from _Lovers Vows_ were taken from [here](http://www.fullbooks.com/Lover-s-Vows.html).
> 
> Hit me up on tumblr at https://ellynneversweet.tumblr.com/


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mrs Darcy finds herself hosting The Dinner Party That Wouldn’t End

Withdrawing with her female guests had been the impulse of the moment, but Mrs Darcy began to doubt her decision almost as soon as the door of the drawing room was pulled to behind them. Her guests had drawn apart, rather than together.

Miss Darcy’s face had a mulish set to it that Mrs Darcy had, after an initial misclassification, privately categorised some years earlier as the Fitzwilliam wilfulness. Mrs Wentworth, who long had been a devoted correspondent of both ladies but whose habits of absence from London society meant she was rarely in company, was standing close to her cousin with a look of faint alarm. Mrs Rushworth, chin held proudly, had drawn Miss Bertram’s arm through her own, while her sister attempted to disguise an expression of bewilderment.Miss Crawford hovered, quite alone, between the two parties of women, a compressed smile playing across her face as though an anxious laugh might escape from her at any moment.

Mrs Darcy had, for a moment,been really offended at the poor breeding displayed by Mrs Rushworth’s outburst, but was uncomfortably aware she could not address it directly without descending to the same point of criticism herself. Attempting gracefulness, she decided therefore that she felt rather sorry for Mrs Rushworth for having a husband who thought so little, both of her and in general, that he could joke of future unfaithfulness before they had even been married and think it witticism. It was no wonder under such circumstances that she had sought to defend her cousin from the same disregard, and had exposed herself in the attempt.

She could not allow the two ladies to isolate themselves from the rest of the party from embarrassment, however, and with some silent remorse at the loss of opportunity for Miss Crawford to show her accomplishments, she asked Miss Bertram directly if she would play for them at the pianoforte. Miss Darcy was employed to turn the pages, and to demonstrate the advantages of the instrument, which was a newer model than that which Miss Bertram had been used to.

Mrs Rushworth was thus stripped of her aegis, and Mrs Wentworth rather surprised Mrs Darcy by immediately drawing her into conversation. Mrs Wentworth had a great deal to speak of and a soothing manner in which to do so, for she had a calm, observant nature, and had travelled a good deal about the country in recent month visiting family old and new. Mrs Darcy, who had actually met her cousin only twice in four years, then in the company of her talkative father and sisters, had previously thought her spirits easily depressed by indelicacy. She had not anticipated an ally from this quarter and was, accordingly, the more grateful for it. Mrs Rushworth’s attention was soon entirely taken up, for Mrs Wentworth had spent a great deal of time in Bath earlier in the season, and so happy had her time there been that every attraction was described in the most generous terms. Mr Rushworth’s mother had gone to Bath to begin her dowagerhood, and her daughter-in-law was most anxious to discover what entertainments might be prescribed for the lengthening and enjoyment of her stay.

When this conversation seemed well underway and the tea had been served, Miss Crawford sought out her hostess, and sat a little way from the discourse on Bath that the two conversations might not overlap.

‘I am sorry for her,’ said Miss Crawford, with a meaningful look at Mrs Rushworth. ‘She would flirt dreadfully with Henry whenever we were all together at Mansfield Park, but she would not see that he was not in love with her. I suppose it was the effect of too little society, that both girls would lose their heads entirely at the first sight of any new gentleman that came within ten miles of their door. Country living, you know.’

‘I do know,’ said Mrs Darcy, ‘although if thefamily is as well connected as I have heard, I am surprised they did not make their own society. Did they never have house parties?’

‘Well, I suppose the time we were there may have been said to be a house party, although we were not really staying at Mansfield Park proper, but from everything I heard that was an unusual state of affairs by their standards. Sir Thomas is a very good sort of man, but I understand he prefers to have only his family about him most of the time. His sons may go and find whatever enjoyment they like wherever they choose, but his daughters have not that luxury,and were even educated at home. I was grateful all over again for being sent to school in Bath when I saw that they had a little school room in the nursery. How dull it must have been.’

‘But there must have been family nearby to visit, surely. The cousin that your brother is courting cannot live alone?’

‘Oh! Fanny. No, she lives at Mansfield Park with the rest of them. I gather she is Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram’s ward, or something like, although why that should be when her parents are living was never explained to my satisfaction. She has a brother in the navy — Henry went directly to our uncle and got him his lieutenant’s commission when we found out.There is nothing he would not do to please her!’

‘Do you like her, then?’ asked Mrs Darcy, in an offhand manner. Certainly it seemed that Miss Crawford wished to be _seen_ to like her brother’s sweetheart, but she had several times indicated that she had little patience for Mrs Rushworth, and Mrs Darcy wondered that two ladies of close family brought up together could be so entirely different as to excite such opposite reactions, unless such a distinction were the deliberate result of enmity or envy.

Miss Crawford actually seemed to consider this. ‘I do like her, although my brother will not thank me for saying I am as fond of her as I would be of half-grown puppy. She is all agreeableness, always finding ways to make herself useful and never wishing to intrude. She will need to learn some sternness to manage Henry, but I am inclined to think she must begin to give herself greater consequence once she is mistress of her own home.’

This seemed rather a leap. Mrs Darcy was almost suspicious that Miss Crawford might seek to enshrine her own superiority in her brother’s affairs by encouraging a choice of a milksop bride, though she had previously disdained the thought of playing hostess in any house save her own. ‘I wonder that you approve of her for Mr Crawford, then. I can easily see how one might like a temperament such as you describe,’ this was not quite true, as Mrs Darcy had a horror of those insipid creatures who eschewed action and rationality in order to be always seen to be pleasing, ‘but the wife of a gentleman must have some sense about her, if she is to keep a country house in good order. I know I did not feel entirely comfortable in such a role until I had been married some time, and I _had_ thought myself quite equal to the task before I began.’

‘Henry is not so stern as your husband, I think. But do not be offended, pray! I would think the worse of him only if you seemed repressed by his presence. As it is I am no more inclined to think badly of him than I am of men generally.’

Mrs Darcy laughed at this, and very soon after, to her great relief, heard an echo of her merriment from the dining room, where the men were lingering over the port.

She might, perhaps, have been less pleased at the sound of her guests’ amusement had she been better aware of the nature of the activities and conversation of those she left to her husband’s care.

Mr Darcy was not the sort of man to feel comfortable making speeches to little-known acquaintance, although he could and did hold his own most eloquently in educated debate amongst friends. The former trait had often been the cause of his uncle’s laments, for the latter had caused that great patriarch to very much desire his nephew’s entry into the halls of parliament, that he might further those aims the Earl considered proper in the House of Commons. He could not reprove his wife’s withdrawal with the female half of the party, but had he thought it possible to do so without undoing whatever good work she could manage in attempting to repair Mrs Rushworth’s distemper, he would have happily entreated his guests to rejoin their wives and sisters as soon as might be. As it was, that would necessarily also have meant allowing Mr Crawford to attempt another conversation with Miss Darcy, which Mr Darcy was not at all inclined to permit if he could avoid it without displaying open rudeness towards a man who was, after all, an invited guest in his home.

Captain Wentworth had been studying Mr Rushworth with a narrow, appraising sort of look ever since that gentleman had made his quotation, and, as the port was served, proposed a toast.

‘To constancy in love, and sincerity in friendship. May lovers vows never end in lovers quarrels.’

This was drunk with general agreement for the excellency of the port, if not the sentiment, and Mr Yates, laughing, declared Captain Wentworth a cheat, for he had combined two toasts in one, as any man who had taken the time to read Mr Crawhall’s publication on the art would surely know. Since this body of readership consisted of pretty much every man who ever had occasion to give a toast, and thus could be asserted to be true by each gentleman at the table, a clamour then went up for a second glass. This was answered, and drunk down as readily as the first, with Captain Wentworth proposing an amendment after the fact that necessitated yet another pour.

‘I must give you the honour of this glass, Mr Rushworth, since my poor memory for performance was inspired by your own genius. I suppose your wife knows you very well, sir, having grown up so near? I would not have dared play such a role as you described, once I had fixed my happiness upon Mrs Wentworth, but then, I believed I had not given her sufficient cause to know if she might mistrust my meaning when I spoke.’

Mr Rushworth replied that this was not at all the case, for when his dear Maria had come out he had been absent at school and university, and they had only met when he had come into his inheritance. He supposed they might have met as children, but he did not recall it, for like any lad he had not been of a mind to notice girls at that age.

Mr Yates thought this was ridiculous, and called upon Mr Crawford to come to his aid, ‘for everyone knows that the stage has nothing at all to do with reality and is only a bit of artifice. Indeed, I would say the best performances are always given by those actors who are really unlike their characters. It is the fun of playing at something one would never truly do that gives a spark to one’s performance.’

Mr Darcy remarked at this, admiring those who had a capacity to so neatly seperate their actions, so as to never perform falseness anywhere but on the stage, and there acquit themselves brilliantly without any practice. But he could not but wonder how to ascertain the difference between what Mr Yates termed the best performances, and what newspaper critics cried up as excellent, which were usually given by actors who had developed a reputation for playing one sort of character or other.

Mr Crawford suggested the clarification that such a distinction must apply only when one spoke of amateurs, not professional actors, who of course relied upon the confluence of personality and character for the perpetuation of their fame. In a private party where everyone knew the other guests’ history, then the amusement must come from the knowledge of those persons present who were both audience and actor. It was like a pantomime, where one watched a man with bladders strapped below his dress prancing about as a wicked stepmother, delighting in the conflict of surface speech and unspoken truth. 

Mr Darcy retorted that this was no defence of Mr Yates’ position, since Mr Yates had declared the central friction to be between the essential nature of the actor and the character they played, whereas Mr Crawford spoke of the difference between those two figures’ history. Mr Yates’ argument rested on actions an actor _would_ not perform offstage, whereas Mr Crawford’s reasoning only suggested the action in question _could_ not be performed. In the heightened action of the stage many things were performed as farce that would spark censure and outrage were they to truly occur in the street or private house, but in his experience men often delighted in defending those courses of thought and action, under the protection of theoretical occurrence and assumed name, which they would never dare to affix to their own reputation.

Mr Yates applied to Colonel Fitzwilliam for his opinion, whereupon the colonel delighted Mr Yates by agreeing with him, for, after all, theatricals always required treachery and someone to perform it, and it was hard enough to get a party of private guests to agree on who should play what without the added complication of implicating one of them as a true villain and so injuring their honour. His cousin he suspected of nursing a personal grievance in the argument, since, being tall and saturnine himself, he had often been roped into the role of some lech or sorcerer in their juvenile amusements, and was never allowed to give any of the lovers’ speeches — although since those speeches were usually directed at his brother Vivian, unbreeched and in the guise of a maiden, it was a dubious prize to wish for. In any case, since Mr Darcy had landed a Beatrice and not some dictionary-toting _précieuse_ , it would not have served him at all to have memorised every sonnet ever written to sweet _amour_.

Mr Rushworth protested this, saying that he found Mrs Darcy very kind and not at all like Beatrice, who had seemed a sharp-tongued vixenish creature. Perhaps Colonel Fitzwilliam meant she was like the other lady in the play, who he thought he remembered was called Hero, though it was an odd name for a woman. He proposed a toast to the delicacy of a true woman, this time with the brandy.

Mr Crawford, who had been set to coughing by the brandy, turned to Captain Wentworth to remark that they had not heard _his_ views on whether distance or familiarity produced the truer performance on stage. Captain Wentworth only shook his head. ‘I am fonder of music than I am of theatre, when I may accomodate a preference at all. I find I have a disgust of those whose talents run to performing some convincing display of ardency one moment and disdain the next, all the while feeling neither. I cannot enjoy deception, even in jest, I am afraid.’

Mrs Darcy refreshed the tea, and, feeling that she could not leave half the party in Bath any longer without being suspected of ignoring her guests comfort, took the opportunity to resettle herself and Miss Crawford closer to Mrs Rushworth and Mrs Wentworth. A natural lull ensued as the milk and powdered sugar was doled out, and Mrs Darcy, seeking to revive the previous conversation, turned to Mrs Rushworth to ask if that lady now planned a visit to Bath.

‘I do not think so,’ said she. ‘I am sure it is very good for those mature enough to prefer gently paced society, but for myself I cannot see how it could surpass Brighton for taking the sea air. The pavilion was very grand. I found myself quite overcome with inspiration when I saw it, for furniture and wall-hangings are all I think of nowadays.’

Mrs Darcy was not fond of Brighton, though her family had visited in the past, and asked if it was still very full of redcoats. Mrs Rushworth confirmed that it was, but said with a superior look that this was no trouble, as there was no need to consort with soldiers if one took the trouble to get the right introductions in advance. It did help the look of the thing to have them about, though what conversation could be had in in their company was hardly to be imagined. She had heard _some_ say that a soldier was to be preferred to a clergyman, but for patterns of speech and gentility she could not but think the latter superior, at least if he came from good stock. Miss Crawford coloured at this rudeness, and said that she thought this rather depended on the gentleman in question, for, after all, officers and clergy were generally but a twig apart on the great family trees of England. _She_ could not say that a man of the cloth was always to be thought superior, and indeed she found that group too often in display of sloth in body and mind to withstand a fair comparison.

Mr Crawford, a glint in his eye, declared that Captain Wentworth was as true a sailor as he had ever seen, for to a man they were fixed upon honesty and passion, and proposed a toast to the wives and daughters of the continent, who held up England’s wooden walls. This received a loud reception from the assembled gentlemen, which was perhaps for the best, since Captain Wentworth’s response was not as cheerful as that of the rest of the party, and by the time the ribaldry had died down he had managed to hew close enough to calm to say that he did not like to speak of such things, so loudly, with ladies present in the house.

‘I am used to sailors’ wives, sir,’ was Mr Crawford’s unwise response. ‘My aunt could tell such tales as to make an admiral blush, and did.’

Captain Wentworth made a very short reply to this, which was to the point that if other men saw fit to drag their wives into such company he could not stop them, but neither would he approve it.

Mrs Darcy smiled at her cousin, hoping to recapture civility. ‘Anne, will you and Captain Wentworth not come and stay with us over summer? You would be very welcome, and we are always moving about at that time between Pemberley and my sister Mrs Bingley’s home. You will have all of Derbyshire memorised within a month, I am sure.’

‘We mean to go to Captain Wentworth’s family once we have left London,’ said Anne. ‘The Admiral and Mrs Croft have been very firm in wishing to have us come and stay with them at Kellynch Hall at the same time as their brother the Reverend is invited, so that we might all become properly acquainted as family. We mean to look at a cottage nearby, to see how it suits us.’ She blushed happily at this, even as Miss Crawford blanched to match the milk jug once again in her hostess’s hands.

‘Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire?’ asked Mrs Rushworth, and at Mrs Wentworth confirmation that the estate was in that country, readily went on.

‘Yes, I had heard it was let. If you will permit me to offer a piece of advice, you must go to your brother- and sister-in-law as soon as may be. Kellynch Hall is a baronet’s seat, you know and a man who may boast _real_ ancestry is not like to wish to give it up the proper display it for long — Sir Walter was in parliament with my father, and is by all accounts a very fine gentleman, though I never met him myself. I am pleased you may have the opportunity to see it under such comfortable circumstances as a family visit, since I think you must become inured to being a little unsettled as a sea captain’s wife.’

Mrs Wentworth agreed to this with bemusement, saying that she was sure she would be quite comfortable now that she would be assured of visiting family rather than strangers, and it occurred to Mrs Darcy with some embarrassment that she had been introduced to Mrs Rushworth only as a lately married cousin with a heroic naval husband, rather than the Miss Anne Elliot of Kellynch Hall that she had been but a few months before.Mrs Wentworth was certainly prouder of her husband than she was her father, but while this was certainly understandable to any person of sense who had had the opportunity to compare the two gentlemen, Mrs Darcy could not help but feel distress at having introduced her two guests in a fashion that could lead one to believe the other in need to such advice.

Mr Yates had toasted the army next, for their victory over the Corsican, and Mr Crawford volunteered that he had heard from his uncle the Admiral that gentlemen from the Allied nations were going to Elba expressly to see Napoleon, who was apparently granting interviews to those who sought him out with the vigorous prolix of an oracle.

Captain Wentworth confirmed that he had heard that was the case also, and Colonel Fitzwilliam wondered to the air why the navy allowed such ships to enter the harbour. Captain Wentworth replied with good humour that it it had been the navy’s task that past decade to keep the seas open for trade and travel against the continental blockade, so it would be an odd change of tack to close it up now. Did the army think those redcoats whose task it was to guard against mischief being done on Elba not fit for the duty assigned them?

Perhaps he found it amusing, mused Mr Crawford. Whatever one thought of Napoleon, he had been master of most of Europe for a third of his life. The allies might havemagnanimously granted him the style of King of Elba, but such a man could not occupy himself with the business of one small island anymore than the master of a grand estate could content himself tilling the same field each day. Such a man must always be doing, and if no better option than conversation with gawkers presented itself, well he could not be blamed for finding what amusement he could in it. He drank off his glass for emphasis, setting it down with a clatter.

Mr Rushworth declared that he would not dare speak to the great man, for who knew how onemight find himself captivated by a dictator who had come from nothing to hold so many — many by rights his betters — in thrall? One might come away believing anything said by such a person, for surely he could compel men in a way that none could resist.

Mr Darcy frowned at this, and pointed out that a great many men, some of whom were at table, had resisted Napoleon in the face of greater danger and privation than could reasonably be expected in any drawing room. If a man’s studies had not granted him sufficient powers to permit him to listen to argument with reason and dispassion without fear of being overcome under such circumstances, then certainly he should have a care to keep his thoughts in safety, but surely no educated gentleman deserving of the name could declare himself so irresolute in his beliefs.

Mr Rushworth readily assented to this, and said he would certainly have no fear himself of speaking to Napoleon, but he could not see the point in the expense of going so far, only to see a man who after all could not have much to say. Had he still been in Paris, certainly, for one might take in the sights in the course of one’s journey. Why, he intended to go to Paris soon himself, for his wife was wild to travel and had determined upon seeing how the French salons were arranged so she might make plans for the fitting up of their estate.

‘Would it be very difficult to transport furniture by sea?’ he asked Captain Wentworth. He was not at all sure whether a comfortable collection of furnishings could be accommodated in a merchant ship’s hold.

Captain Wentworth, with admirable _sang-froid_ , said that he had observed a stick of furniture or two being carried below when he had been alongside a merchant ship at port, and even managed a desk in his own quarters nowadays, although he had been obliged to secure his hammock against it on more than one occasion.

Mr Crawford then declared with passion that _he_ had nothing to fear from Napoleon, and should quite like to meet the man himself, for whatever one thought of him, it must be said that he had assured himself a place amongst the titans of history by his actions. And, in any case, had not all of those present benefited by his actions? The prizes he had made available for capture had enrichedthe fortunes of the army and navy, and as for the gentlemen of property, why, had not the need for the food and timber produced from their estates granted them greater wealth and prominence? He would certainly be courteous enough to shake the man’s hand, could he manage an audience.

‘Hear, hear,’ declared Mr Yates absently, ever appreciative of a well-performed rant, as he rolled his glass in his palms to admire the slow progression of the brandy within.

Mr Darcy drained his own glass, and gestured grimly for another to be poured.

Laughter was again issuing from the dining room, and Mrs Darcy found herself wondering with asperity if the gentlemen would ever quit their port and join the rest of the party, so that she might in turn quit her guests with what grace and patience remained her. No sooner had she thought this, however, than seemed her unvoiced wish was to be answered, for a moment later she heard the sound of chair legs scraping back, and heavy footfalls in the passage between the two rooms. 

Then there was the unmistakable noise of something heavy smashing outside the drawing room, and the sound of Miss Bertram at the pianoforte stopped abruptly. A heartbeat later, an uncertain wail could be heard from the upper stories of the house in the tentative manner of an infant not yet sure of his degree of distress. The thump and skitter of feet leaping out of a bed onto soon followed.

‘Cricket’s up,’ observed Miss Darcy, unnecessarily, for Mrs Darcy had reactively drawn her shawl closer at the first cry, thankful for the quilted pads installed in her stays at the suggestion of her stylish aunt.

Mrs Rushworth looked disdainful, and enquired with a barely-veiled sneer if Mrs Darcy permitted sports inside her house after dinner. Was this odd custom often practised in Derbyshire?

Mrs Darcy, by now half-risen from her chair and pondering with alarm the many favoured items in her home that might have possibly produced such a noise, at last unchecked the irritation she had endeavoured to suppress all that evening and informed Mrs Rushworth, in the haughtily grave tones of a matron observing a callow bride caught in the perpetration of an obvious _faux pas,_ that Cricket was the family’s pet name for her _son,_ Richard, and that gentlemen from Derbyshire were no more likely to play absurd ball-sports in the house than they were in any other civilised part of the country. Thus saying, she swept from the room to confront the further ruin of the evening, before embarrassment could overtake her entirely.

The gentlemen were draped across the hallway, Mr Yates and Mr Crawford still with glasses in hand and incredulous amusement on their faces. A greasy drifting handprint adorned the large gilt-framed mirror that hung in the hallway, shining slick in the lamplight and rocking with ominous gentleness against the wall. The prize orange tree in its blue chinoiserie planter which had stood by the drawing room door lay sprawled upon the floor, the pot smashed and spilling earth across the carpet to pile against the wainscoting. Mr Darcy, who was very fond of his plants, was leaning in mutual support on his cousin’s shoulder, gazing at the spilled fruit in vague dismay while Colonel Fitzwilliam gave him a consoling pat. Mr Rushworth, whose shiny face implicated him as the likely originator of the handprint, had slid down to sit propped against the opposite wall, his eyes almost closed. Captain Wentworth, as glass-eyed as the rest of the party but apparently in greater command of his balance, essayed a slightly unsteady bow and apologised to her with elaborate precision for the disruption.

Mrs Darcy thanked him with as extreme brevity, took a deep breath of soiled air which did nothing to soothe any of the heat in her breast, and turned to a footman hovering in the doorway with a tray of empty bottles in his hands and dismay on his face.

‘Jacob, would you be so good as to speak to Mr Colby? Tell him I would like to have the orange tree tidied away to the greenhouse for the evening, and to send someone over to number thirteen to fetch back Mr Rushworth’s valet and whoever else is best placed to take him home in comfort. Then to have the coach checked and brought ‘round — I think Mr Yates and Mr Crawford drove themselves, so they may both leave their carriages in the — street mews tonight.’

The gentlemen thus named set up a protest, but as this consisted of each of the two incoherently offering to escort the other home in his curricle or barouche, or borrowing a groom from their host to drive one of the aforesaid vehicles and thence make his way home on foot, Mrs Darcy felt herself quite correct in curtailing their freedom, and paid no heed to their discourse.

Returning to the drawing room, she explained as calmly as possible, which was not very, that the ladies would be obliged to entertain only themselves for what remained of that evening, and offered Miss Crawford the use of a room, since her brother had escorted her. Miss Crawford declined, smiling, saying that she was no stranger to a little rowdiness of an evening, but accepted the offer of a carriage ride to Mrs Fraser’s house alongside her brother and Mr Yates. Mrs Darcy turned then to Mrs Rushworth, and said that Mr Rushworth was taken ill, and she had accordingly sent for some of that lady’s servants to assist him home. Would Mrs Rushworth go with them immediately, or would she rather stay until he had been settled for the evening? Mrs Rushworth, it was clear, preferred to stay until she was certain of not being in the way of her own domestic harmony, and so it was that three quarters of an hour or more passed away in stilted tedium before a footman again appeared to escort Mrs Rushworth and Miss Bertram home, the last half hour of which was broken solely by the fretful tones of the younger Richard, who had refused to settle for anyone save his mother. Only then did Mrs Darcy turn to Mrs Wentworth, who with her husband was staying some days with them and had no need to for an escort, to apologise in the most miserable tones for requiring her to endure an evening in such company, and thank her for her kindness in maintaining what harmony had been managed. Mrs Wentworth looked placid at this, saying only that she had seen worse before, and dared say would do so again, though she hoped not often, and declared firmly that as all she had heard previously of their guests indicated that they were entirely acceptable society, no one could have imagined an evening such as this had been, and no blame was to be apportioned on the basis of hindsight.

Mr Darcy was sitting on the edge of his dressing-room bed in his waistcoat, one finger hooked contemplatively in the knot of his cravat. He gave a slow, blinking smile at the sight of his wife, and tugged ineffectually at his collar. ‘Lizbeth.’

His valet gave her a weary look, and went in search of a brush to repair his master’s tailcoat.

She scoffed, and came properly inside the little room to undo his wilted cravat, wrinkling her nose at the scent of brandy emanating from him. ‘Drunk as a lord, is it?’

Mr Darcy yawned, leaning his face unhelpfully against her stays and rubbing his nose across the outline of her busk. ‘Mmmmm. Thought it’d be the easiest — easiest way to deal with him,’ he waved a hand languorously in the direction of their neighbours’ house. ‘Thought he might start making… sense.’

‘Or you’d stop making sense enough to understand him, and so meet in the middle.’

He rumbled with laughter at this, which might otherwise have been a pleasant sensation, but he began to lose his balance in so doing, and she was obliged to press hard on his shoulders before the weight of him toppled them both to the ground. He fell backwards instead, and showed no sign of sitting up again, so she climbed onto the bed to attend his waistcoatbuttons. ‘’S no good. Too much brandy tonight. Poor Lizzy.’

‘What? Oh, I cannot complain when I ask you to play host to such company, I suppose. You may consider your account in arrears, and pay before you quit town. Did it work?’

‘Hmmm?’ His eyes were closed, and he opened them with obvious effort that was quickly exhausted.

‘Did you understand our guests better after you drank a bottle of brandy on your own?’

‘Mmmmm. Can’t remember. Wentworth’s a good fellow. Capital. A capital…captain. Have him ‘round again. Good company. Good for Anne. Won’t let her family push her about.’

‘Better sea-legs than you, from what I saw in the hallway.’

He hummed a nasal four-note flourish, in the best tradition of the navy. ‘Lucky Anne. But I think…I think…’

Mrs Darcy leaned dispiritedly upon an elbow, waiting to hear what, if anything her husband thought at that moment, and wondered if the fashion for evening slippers amongst men had been the result of some plot of valets, designed to sweep the scourge of drunk gentlemen in high boots from that green and pleasant land.

‘I think,’ said he, ‘that Mrs Rushworth must be the luckiest of all.’

‘Really?’ said his wife, distracted by her contemplation of his dangling feet by this fresh intrigue.

‘Mmhmm,’ he was watching her with a glint of barely suppressed glee.

‘Why, pray tell? _I_ cannot think her deserving of any special consideration, given her manners.’

He snorted, and followed the former direction of her gaze, not quite exactly. ‘Won’t be bothered tonight,’ he said, with a broad leer. ‘Good hosting, I say. Good evening all the way through. Very sol…solic…’

‘Solicitous?’ his lady supplied.

‘That. Considerate of her comfort.’ He kissed the inside of her elbow, this being the closest part he could reach without lifting his head. She laughed in spite of herself.

‘You are a paragon of gentility, Fussy.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised it would get worse, didn’t I? This chapter got away a bit from me in terms of word count and some parts were, like an ill-cut muslin, kept aside for later use, but if at least one person was reading through their fingers by the end of this I’ll count myself satisfied.  
> Captain Wentworth’s toast is adapted from the _Complete Toast-Master: a Collection of Toasts and Sentiments_ , published by Joseph Crawhall. The extant copy I could find is undated and references Waterloo, so I’m cheating a bit to use it here, but since it is after all a collection I’ve taken the liberty of pretending that it it was a reprint of an older work. A copy can be found at [https://archive.org/details/fisherchapbook105](here)
> 
> ellynneversweet.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mrs Darcy faces the morning after the night before

Dawn came at its scheduled hour, the day breaking as bleak and cheerless as could be justly anticipated of a February morning. Mrs Darcy, who had achieved sleep but not rest, woke as cold and irritable as a pot that had curdled in the night. Lying abed under such conditions proved insupportable, and so she soon rose to attend to the earliest and most necessary of the morning’s rituals. Mr Darcy, sleeping later if not better, snored behind the closed door of his dressing room.

She went, as usual, first to the nursery, where little Richard was standing in his crib, listening to a silly song about a barefoot lady, a fiddling gentleman, and an inquisitive cock. The nursery maid waved her needle like a choir-master’s baton as she worked a seam, keeping time as her charge attempted to sing a round. He could, as yet, manage only a piping ‘doodle-doo,’but this he sung with enough gusto to shew that he quite deserved the noisy epithet bestowed upon him by his family that Mrs Rushworth had misunderstood to the point of insult the previous evening. He turned an anxious face to the door immediately upon his mother’s arrival, however, and signalled his desire to be picked up with a bobbing, tottering wave and a woebegone look that promised a wail should his demands not be promptly met. His mother, mindful of the sore heads that lay all about them, scooped him up at once, capturing the chubby fingers that tugged imperiously at her wrapper with expert hand and fond smacking kisses on his face and palm. A glance behind the bed-curtains at Edward showed her eldest to be exhibiting a sincere imitation of his sire, his face slack and a little flushed beneath his cap, so Mrs Darcy sat down to attend to her younger son’s breakfast without further delay.

This was customarily a drawn-out business, but was soon relieved by the equally customary arrival of a tray bearing letters and chocolate for herself, all of which must be alternately managed with a single hand. As the chocolate still steamed as it was poured into its high trembleuse, she turned first to the safer prospect of examining her letters. They were increasingly numerous at that time of year, for, with the Christmas and New Year festivities long past and Easter still many weeks away,such of London’s populace as formed the Darcys’ social circle was inevitably weighted in favour of gentlemen temporarily restored to their bachelor state until the next breaking up of parliament. Their ladies and small children, for the most part, preferred to remain in their own establishments until they might travel in the greater comfort of spring, and from thence they wrote to each other of news and novels and receipts, and plotted and gave advice or greater or lesser use, until they might meet again in person for a month or so.

Mrs Darcy, driven by joint force of fondness for her husband and the practical consideration of her own family’s residence being rather closer to London than to Derbyshire, had chosen the discomfort of a winter’s road over the isolation of a country estate with only her children for company, but the restriction of her circle at that time of year persisted whether she was in town or country. The ladies who _were_ presently in Town — for there must always be some — were comprised in the main of the very young and unattached, for whom the advantages for closeness to their modistes outweighed such inconveniences as might be easily overcome by a hardy constitution, the formidably aged, who were often rather better and more active politicians than their husbands, and those of restricted enough means to live in London most of the year, to whom she was perforce more of a patron than a peer.

Two of her letters were addressed from her own family, and to the intimacy of these these she attended more eagerly than the rest.

The first, the address written in the practised, generous scribble of a gentleman scholar, came from Longbourn, and she opened it with the pleasant anticipation of being diverted by her favourite parent.

> My dear Lizzy,
> 
> I write in some apprehension, for I do not wish to distract you from what must be your most pressing objective this morning. I refer, of course, to your fulfilment of your duty to amuse your Papa, by laying out a _most_ comprehensive account of your dinner party last night. I made advance note of the date upon receipt of your last as being an occasion which I anticipated would afford me a great deal of amusement in the recital. I will not, therefore, tell you much of our news, and in any case there is little of interest to be said, for your mother and sisters can no doubt do better than I in relating the changes to their bonnet trimmings and preserves, and you are too long acquainted with the ridiculousness of our neighbours to wish to hear another repetition of the exploits of Sir William and his family.
> 
> To return to the topic which must interest us, therefore, I am most eager to hear of the further discourses of Mr Rushworth, and of the genteel behaviour of his lady. It is something of a surprise to me to find I am more interested in the latter than the former, but I have heard enough from Kitty of late on the topic of beaus to have no very great difficulty in imagining the sort of man who considers a description of his wardrobe the sort of topic likely to please a lady, although to her credit Kitty herselfhaslately declared no very great pleasure in hearing such talk, and has begun to be rather more discriminating in the topics she considers worthy of her attention in the conversation of a young man. Therefore, until your husband may be prevailed upon to give his opinion of the gentleman to me — preferably in person, given his propensity for only sending fine copies of his letters —I will not feel I have a proper understanding of Mr Rushworth’s character from your analysis alone.

Mrs Darcy paused at this, recalling that such inferences were frequently the only warning she received before Mr Bennet called on her household, and made a note to have a room made up that morning for his use. 

> I must confess that I have never felt the lack of baronets in our part of the country so keenly as I did when I read your description of the lady, for it now appears to me that the unique properties of that rank of cannot be justly observed in _any_ other part of society, be it but the slightest gradation higher or lower. Indeed, it seems on consideration that there is nothing so likely to produce pride in a person as does a position on the very precipice of nobility, and surely there can be no better encapsulation of such a precipice than exists in the procuring of a title that grants virtue to one’s name without the further distinction of the recognition of a house of one’s peers. 

Edward, who had been woken by the the bustle about him and, more probably, the wafting scent of chocolate, now climbed out of bed unattended, and crawled yawning onto the sofa beside her. He pressed a sleepy kiss to her cheek, and, seeing an irresistible opportunity to tease, tickled his brother’s bare foot. Richard startled in her arms, twisting to kick at his traitorous sibling, and a creamy spurt marred the letter in her hand. She laid it aside with an exclamation, and attempted to disentangle her children, who had startled to wrestle in earnest in her lap. It was some minutes before she was able to resume any of her employments in peace. Edward, whose hands were not yet quite steady enough to handle even a half-full trembleuse, _could_ manage a saucer, provided the chocolate was not too hot, and when he was at last prevailed upon to stay seated at her side rather than climbing onto either her lap or the arms of the sofa, she applied hopefully to this for his distraction. The chocolate pot was still steaming, however, and he laid the saucer aside after a tentative sip, in favour of a carved wooden horse that had been left out of the toy chest the previous evening. This toy soon began a steady progress across the every available surface in a game of ‘stops,’ accompanied by a regular clopping of his tongue, and it was only when the little horse was decreed stabled in the table-top work box which served for a post-inn that he would consent to pause for refreshment.

Mrs Darcy returned to her letter, the sheet of which had been a little stained upon the question of Mrs Rushworth’s behaviour.

> As to the news of your then having obtained a _second_ specimen of the breed in your cousin, well, Lizzy, if it had not rained all last night I am not sure I could have restrained myself from riding to London this morning and inviting myself to your table that I might make a direct comparison, but as it is I am warned by Mrs Bennet that her nerves will bear no such threat to my health, and I have been obliged to promise not to travel further than Meryton all this month. Now that you have had a chance to observe her in person without the veil of correspondence (I suspect a family trait), you must tell me if Mrs Wentworth as proud of her ancestral reputation as is Mrs Rushworth. That is, of course, notwithstanding the better justification of a more informed conscience, which one must attribute in very great degree to the increased years of the former lady.
> 
> If you will do me the favour of keeping Mrs Wentworth with you until March, however, I will throw off the shackles of matrimonial promise and pay you a visit, for our latest news from Jane is that the Bingleys are is now not likely to arrive in town until then. Jane writes no more than that theyare all well but presently so unsettled as to have trouble anticipating their forwarding address, and so she thinks it simpler to save conversation until we are all together again. I find myself hoping that the further investment Bingley has been considering is not to hisliking after all, since the increased absence of their little family from this part of country preys upon Mrs Bennet’s mind, and she is hourly more convinced that Jane’s letters disguise that they are all at death’s door, plotting a tour of the continent, or both, and that this news is being kept from us out of Jane’s concern for her poor Mama’s nerves. I have not yet discovered any breed of logic that may argue away such theories as are dreamed up by reading a letter and assigning to it the opposite of its stated meaning, but I do find an partial antidote in reading her such extracts from your letters that prove that at least one of her daughters is capable of finding trouble and strife in the most elevated of situations, and is not too kind to trouble her parents on such a score.
> 
> Kiss the boys for me, and kindly shew the postscript of this letter to your husband, so that he may send me his next move in our game. Pray do not abuse my trust by informing him of what I may yet hope to gain by allowing my bishop to be captured as I anticipate, for it is most unsporting to play two against one.
> 
> Love &c,
> 
> Papa

This letter could not be said to improve Mrs Darcy’s mood as she had hoped. She did not yet feel capable of laughing at the events of the previous evening, feeling too keenly the humiliation of having exposed those whose opinions she _did_ really value to what was not, as she had anticipated, the amusing spectacle of the absurdity and pomposity of her neighbours, but instead to a meanness of thought and behaviour that had been at best unpleasant and at worst had verged upon the truly uncivil. She therefore put this aside until she was able to compose a recollection of events that would not upset her to relate, and, after handing over Edward for his morning bath, with the promised kiss from his grandfather but without his horse, turned with more guarded anticipation towards the second of her letters, an express from her oldest and eldest sister, Mrs Bingley.

It clearly could not be a very long letter, for Mrs Bingley wrote in a fine round hand that was both more immediately legible than Mr Bennet’s and less able to accomodate long diversions. She wrote dispiritingly of what Mrs Darcy had already learned — namely, of the continued delay to her family’s hoped-for arrival in Town.

A journey by coach from the Bingleys’ estate to London, though now made rather easier by the frost and snow that had lately succeeded the rain and mud of the earliest part of the year, still could not be achieved in less than three or four days in good weather, and even then was bound to be both dull and uncomfortable. Mrs Bingley speculated in brief as to the possibility of such diversions as might keep her children entertained for several hours together while cooped inside a closed carriage, and asked her sister’s advice on what approach _she_ had taken. Mrs Darcy’s tactic had been to wrap Edward in so many layers he resembled an Egyptian of antiquity and let him ride pillion with his father while he shouted and kicked with glee until one or the other of them had given in to exhaustion at a post-inn and retreated to nap in the carriage. Such an approach was sadly inappropriate in the case of little Charlotte Bingley, and Mrs Darcy, who had laid aside a little collection of books and dolls in anticipation of their reunion in Town, resolved instead to send these by post.

Mrs Bingley’s two children, who were roughly of an age with Mrs Darcy’s own, apparently found their energies equally as frustrated when confined inside on snow-laden country estate as their cousins did trapped within a townhouse, and chose to express themselves in like manner. Miss Mary Bennet, who sadly was not the sort of aunt who excelled in persuasion or make-believe, had retreated some days ago in high dudgeon into her own quarters when what was apparently a tedious lecture on musical theory — which Mrs Darcy suspected Miss Bennet had designed on purpose in order to drive away such childish distractions from her own endless studies— had instead resulted in an increase of enthusiasm in the little Bingleys exertions upon the pianoforte in the winter drawing room, the other instrument being closed up for the coldest part of the year. Miss Bennet was now only to be seen at mealtimes, complaining of the headache. A line much scratched out — ‘it is almost enough to make one wish for Caroline’ — was followed by an enquiry into whether Mrs Darcy was still enjoying her walks with Miss Crawford, and the expression of a wish that she would be in Town long enough for Mrs Bingley to meet her.

> I am very pleased you have found such an accommodating companion. I have sometimes found I have a little trouble explaining to anyone not in my present stage of life the occasional difficulties I face in managing as much visiting or hosting as I should like, and I think it a rare thing to have found such an understanding in someone who is not yet a matron herself. I hope you have found her brother as satisfactory as she has promised, but given your own praise of Miss Crawford, I can only assume the relative of such a woman to be a sort of knight-errant, and I confess I will be disappointed to hear that Mr Crawford is any less gallant than Lancelot.

Mr Bingley was concerned by news he had received of unrest near some of his interests in Yorkshire. Peace, though it had been toasted enthusiastically at every fete they had attended the previous summer, had not been regarded as an unmixed blessing in that part of the country, for it had brought with it some uncertainty as to the necessity of the continuance of the former pace of production in the textile mills that served as the foundations of the fortunes of the great and the livelihoods of the small. Mr Bingley was considering whether it might not be better to stay in the north, where he could be close at hand to settle further disputes, rather than come soon to Town and risk leaving such things to an intermediary. Here the letter devolved into the heavy downstrokes and liberal spotting of Mr Bingley’s own writing, asking Mr Darcy’s opinions on a number of points that might impact the matter, which Mr Darcy would be better able to answer from his position in Town. Mrs Darcy therefore set this letter, too, aside, until it could be answered in the same joint fashion as it had been written.

Such letters as these left her in no state for the present to wish to read the rest of her correspondence. She turned all her attention to the amusement of her children instead, and, by the time Edward was released from the cheerfully ruthless scrubbing he had received, lively and dressed in a fresh gown, she felt herself soothed enough to face company with something like equanimity.

Feeling that the best method of encouraging this brighter mood to kindle in herself was further indulgence, she therefore exchanged her youngest, replete and thus momentarily content, for her eldest, whom she proposed to allow join the grown-up party to breakfast. This condescension, when she had properly dressed to the accompaniment of her husband’s continued snoring in the adjacent room, extended so far as overlooking the dangling wooden horse Edward again held in his free hand as they proceeded downstairs, and which was at length reluctantly relinquished to a position by the salt cellar.

They had not been seated very long in this manner when Mrs Wentworth and Miss Darcy entered the room. Edward, starting and glancing at his father’s empty seat, promptly straightened his legs to slide out of his chair and under the table, only to emerge again and bow carefully to the ladies, who favoured him with a smile and allowed themselves to be escorted to table. This act of civility was only slightly marred by Miss Darcy’s having to stand again to help her nephew back into his own seat. Her dog, an elderly and fresh-bathed terrier who was her near-constant shadow, promptly unpeeled himself from her ankle to sit with rigid quivering dignity at Edward’s side, the better to receive the chewed and yolky toast soldiers sure to descend thence.

Miss Darcy sighed in mock dismay at this. ‘Abandoned by most most faithful companion, and not even for a rasher.’

The terrier laid his chin adoringly upon Edward’s knee, as if in confirmation, and, Mrs Wentworth having been apprised of this safe topic of amusement, the conversation fell quickly into an comfortable staccato, interrupted pleasantly by the pouring of hot drinks and the retrieval of dishes.

This feminine conference was rather unexpectedly interrupted by the arrival of Captain Wentworth, who, if he could not be said to look in the very pink of health, had at least the advantage over his companions of the previous evening in being seen to be upright, awake, and in proper morning dress. He gave the assembled party a look of slight uncertainty as he hesitated on the threshold, having clearly composed himself to attend breakfast with all the courtesy due to his hosts that he could summon in his present condition, without at all considering the possibility of his host having been too much affected to be present himself. He was not given the opportunity to escape, however, for Mrs Darcy insisted that he seat himself, and attend to his appetite.

Captain Wentworth took a cup of coffee, and considered the possibility of a pork chop.

Mrs Darcy, with the cheerfulness of sobriety, complimented him on the freshness of his appearance.

Captain Wentworth complemented the previous evening’s party in return, and said that his present appearance must in part be due to naval habit, but that the greater part of the credit must be laid at Mr Darcy’s door — it was, after all, a rare sailor who did not prefer port to grog.

Mrs Darcy and Miss Darcy, who were not used to sailors, were appropriately delighted by the novelty of this pun, and Mrs Wentworth allowed herself to be amused more out of fondness than novelty, for it was clear that recently married as she was, she was already familiar with this particular joke.

Edward, a little distracted by the presence of a strange gentleman, had at first left off his attempts either at conversation or at resuming his game, but soon took advantage of his mother’s distraction with the adult company to retrieve his toy, clopping it across the table with more enthusiasm that before, so that the beast began to travel up his mother’s arm and leap improbably back to the table. This was allowed to continue until, by unlucky chance,the stiff forelock of his toy forced its way into the cutwork of the table runner that had served it as aroad, and tore open a little rip in as evidence of its passage. Mrs Darcy observed this with dismay, realising that such an outcome ought have been foreseen, and the miniature trojan was then put away more firmly than before, too high to be stolen away without notice.

In spite of his show of spirit, Captain Wentworth soon began to look a little pale, contributing almost as little of sense to the conversation as did Edward, and eating rather less. Mrs Wentworth, noticing this, broached the subject of some modistes and haberdashers that she had in mind to visit, and delicately suggested both that she would very much appreciate the guidance of Mrs and Miss Darcy in this endeavour, and that the presence of a gentleman would be entirely unnecessary.Captain Wentworth retired soon after this with a grateful look, and, when he was gone, Mrs Wentworth suggested that as well as the aforementioned merchants of feminine accoutrements, she wanted to consider the prospects of an equipage of some sort or other, for though she had had but little practical experience herself of travel in the time before her marriage, Captain Wentworth was still less familiar with the prospect of travelling by horse rather than by sea.

‘And,’ said she, ‘I should not at all be adverse to learning to drive myself, for it seems to me that to come to the task with perfect ignorance would probably be an advantage. I have observed that naval men have a habit of raising the reins in the air, as if to turn the wheel of a ship, which — though I am no expert on driving or sailing — seems to be to be a practice that confuses horses and driver alike.’

Edward, who had comported himself with as much courtesy as could have been expected since the removal of his toy, now looked up hopefully at this, and, nearly bursting with the effort of waiting for a break in the conversation, asked if they might find _him_ a horse also, adding, artlessly, ‘Papa _said_ so.’

Mrs Darcy, secure in the knowledge that her husband did not at all believe that the anticipation of a gift increased the pleasure with which it would be received, considered the probability of such a promise having been made unlikely. She fixed her son with a stern look which only made him grin. ‘I think you are telling me a fib, Ned.’

He shook his head, smiling still wider, and protested vehemently that he was _not_ , for Papa had said that he might learn to ride _next year_ when he had asked if he might have a horse for Christmas. Since then had come New Year, when they came to town, and as the transparencies for that celebration had just yesterday been put away in the nursery, surely it was now _next year_ and he could have a horse — and if he could not have one today, perhaps he could have one for his birthday, although that was weeks and weeks away. This date was in truth not far off, for he had been born a bare few months after his parents had celebrated their anniversary, and Mrs Darcy had for her efforts the pleasure of producing a child who had satisfied all those parties who thought themselves possessed of a right to any interest in the outcome, his arrival having been _almost_ prompt enough to satisfy familial curiosity while not being so prompt as to allow for indecorous speculation, and he had further been as well-formed in those particulars of bodily health which were looked for in an heir as to admit no upset from any quarter.

Mrs Darcy demurred, taking refuge from the necessity of giving an answer in the well-founded maternal fortress of future paternal approval. Miss Darcy, who herself was as comfortable on horseback as any person had a right to be, had been obliged to translate her nephew’s soliloquy to Mrs Wentworth, and had thereby been reduced to mirth at his impeccable logic. She teased him, asking if he meant to ride side-saddle, since he was after all still in skirts. Edward looked uncertain at this, but after a moment’s experimentation declared that he could hike his skirts up as he did on his hobby horse, like so, and frowned in confusion at the amusement this serious display produced in the ladies.

Miss Darcy’s little dog began to bark at this outpouring of mirth, bouncing on his forepaws in his enthusiasm. Miss Darcy attempted to stifle her laughter long enough to hush him, but was undone in part by Mrs Wentworth suggestion that this was a reaction to the crows visible from the bay window, and then entirely by Mrs Darcy’s suggestion it might instead be that Mr Crawford had come to collect his barouche — though it was surely full early in the day for him to be out of bed.

This merriment, which persisted through the remainder of the meal, had quite restored Mrs Darcy’s good humour by the time as the party sallied forth to open their purses. This was sufficient even to bolster her against the appearance of Miss Bertram, who hurried from her own door shortly after them, and, by the slight disorder apparent in her gloves and bonnet, seemed to have left her house with the express purpose of catching them up.

Miss Darcy, with whom she had spent the latter part of the previous evening, soon became her object. The young ladies talked quietly together for a few moments, and Miss Bertram was so insistent in declaring her intention of waiting on them that morning, and in asking where the party intended to go and when they might return, that Miss Darcy, who did not like to give offence, invited the younger lady to join them. This Miss Bertram surprised them all by very readily assenting to, and then surprised them still further by proving to be rather more obliging company in the absence of her sister than she had previously been in that lady’s presence.

The colour high in her cheeks, she explained that Mrs Rushworth was in a most unamiable mood, and as Mr Rushworth showed no sign of rising from his bed, she felt she might slip away for a few hours without neglecting her familial duties.

Mrs Darcy hoped Mr Rushworth was not unwell, and regretted it if he was — though she did not apologise, for she had long since resolved that it could not be judged a host’s fault should a gentleman of any more than a very tender years indulge himself more than he was willing to bear. Neither did she feel she could feel she could justly regret Mrs Rushworth’s distemper, being of theprivate opinion that as Mrs Darcy had never seen evidence of a _good_ mood in that lady, her hosting could not in fairness be blamed for the inverse of such.

Miss Bertram, with such reasonable justification as this, seemed disinclined to talk any more of her sister and brother-in-law, and soon fell to quizzing Miss Darcy on the many interesting occupations available to a young lady of means who lived in Town. These were extensive by any standards, and Miss Bertram, who had lived a very retired life, seemed scarcely to know where best to begin. She was especially enchanted by the notion of assembly rooms, the chief attraction of which seemed in her case to be the possibility of attending a ball without requiring her family to host it, for it seemed neither her father nor her brother-in-law were inclined towards such generosity more than once or twice a year. Miss Darcy, when this topic was introduced, eventually gave Miss Bertram to understand in a rather offhand manner that the former had made her debut at Almacks, as had been the fashion for some years amongst the more discerning members of society, amongst whom presentation to the lady hosts of that assembly was regarded as being rather more of a mark of distinction than presentation to any other persons, no matter how elevated the others' rank. This information caused Miss Bertram to question Miss Darcy very closely on this topic for some time, and since she preferred not to direct her questions to the matrons of the party, and in any case Mrs Wentworth was not very much occupied with Town society, this resulted in a most unusual situation of Miss Darcy being obliged to do most of the talking in a conversation with a new acquaintance. The conversation eventually lapsed into something like equality, Mrs Wentworth and Mrs Darcy having turned to a conversation upon their own concerns, and, as will naturally occur between young ladies, a cheerful comradeship sprung up between the two girls, who talked with little cease for most of the morning’s expedition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who read and commented, and generally waited out the the delay in getting this out -- this fic has turned into something rather larger than I originally intended, so I had to rework a few plot points before plunging on. Fingers crossed it will go a bit smoother in future.
> 
> If you're not familiar with it, the song that the nursery maid and little Richard are singing is 'Cock a Doodle Doo,' which was published in the collection _Mother Goose's Melody_ in 1765, but was probably passed on orally well before that. Like most English nursery rhymes, it might just be a silly rhyme, or it might be a bit smutty, so it fits this fic. The lyrics in question are:
> 
> Cock a doodle do!  
> What is my dame to do?  
> Till master's found his fiddlingstick,  
> She'll dance without her shoe.
> 
> Cock a doodle do!  
> My dame has found her shoe,  
> And master's found his fiddlingstick,  
> Sing cock a doodle do!
> 
> Cock a doodle do!  
> My dame will dance with you,  
> While master fiddles his fiddlingstick,  
> And knows not what to do.
> 
> As always, please feel free to drop by on tumblr at ellynneversweet.tumblr.com, where I mostly post pictures of animals and romantic era paintings, but sometimes talk about future plot points and resources for whatever I'm attempting to write.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mr Darcy takes a bath, and Mrs Darcy takes a walk

The ladies returned to Darcy House some hours later, finding the society there little different to that which they had left.

Captain Wentworth had, apparently, risked a brief walk, but had returned within twenty minutes and retired first to the study for a book, and then back to the rooms that had been made over for the Wentworths' use.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was accustomed to treating his cousin’s house as familiarly as if it were his own, had called for a breakfast tray and pot of strong coffee, retreated to the rear sitting room, and there had promptly fallen asleep again on the sofa.

Mrs Darcy, hearing this, redirected her guests to the drawing room, then excused herself and ventured upstairs to see if her husband had quit his dressing room yet. He had not, but the door between dressing room and bedroom was cracked, and she ventured inside by the dim winter light filtering through the bedroom windows.

A bathtub had been set on the tiled floor, generously filled with steaming water and stems of dried lavender. Mr Darcy himself lay sprawled in within with his head tipped back against the rim, his fine linen shirt plastered over his shoulder and rendered transparent by the water. One hand held a wadded handkerchief over his eyes, and from the other dangled a cut-glass tumbler, held precariously by the lip a few inches from the floor. A spindle-legged table bearing towels, untouched soap, a bowl of ice chips and brandy sat at his elbow, entirely disregarded.

Mrs Darcy sat down quietly at his dressing table, resting her chin on her hand. ‘Fitzwilliam? May I assume you are alive? You have not dropped your glass.’

He lifted the makeshift ice bag enough to give her a pitiful look, lifted the glass to his lips, grimaced at the smell, and put it down on the table on the second attempt. ‘I think I might be better off dead. I am getting too old for this.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I can see the grey at your temples from here. You could ask Anne for Sir Walter’s dye receipt — apparently he has improved upon it. Again.’

He laughed, then groaned with real feeling and covered his eyes again. ‘Oh, don’t.’

‘Very well, I promise not to make you laugh until tomorrow. And, I know just how to manage it. We may talk of last night, if you are up to it.’

He groaned again.

Mrs Darcy allowed a moment’s silence. ‘Was there something further said after I left that made you so liberal with the brandy? Mrs Rushworth seemed most displeased with Mr Crawford, although I am not sure I ought give it much weight— irritation seems her natural state. Did he and Mr Rushworth have words?’

‘Not to quarrel. Mr Crawford seems to like Mr Rushworth, though for the life of me I cannot think why.’

‘It certainly seemed a lively conversation. Better than what we managed in the drawing room, at any rate. Mrs Rushworth appears to think alike with her husband in considering the sort of _bon mot_ that brings a topic to a close to be the height of conversation, and if she may give insult while looking all innocence, so much the better. May I know what _you_ were discussing?’

‘Theatricals. Marriage,’ said her husband. ‘And Napoleon’s exile. Wentworth, it seems, is indifferent to the first, very happy about the last, and jubilant at the other. Be so good as to remind me to talk to him about the admiralty gossip again before he leaves, when I am in a state of mind to remember specifics. I think I will want to leave some of the pine woods standing a little longer, although I cannot at present explain why.’

‘And did you toast his happiness with Anne all night, or was the conversation more general?’

‘I believe it wandered.’

‘Hmmm. You do not mention what Richard thought of your major topics. Did _his_ conversation, perchance, wander towards, say, Mary Crawford?’

He lifted his head to look her in the eye, letting the sodden handkerchief drop into the tub and drift. ‘I insist you stop this. I will not countenance any closer relationship to the Rushworths than we have already managed.’

‘Aha! So Richard _did_ like her. More than he likes a pretty girl generally? I could not tell if he was flirting more seriously than usual.’ She could not prevent a triumphant smile, nor the way it grew when he refused to answer.

‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘He did. But that does not signify. Richard wants to be married, and he can afford it now. He is already inclined to be incautious, and circumstance may readily do the rest. If they are thrown together, I fear he will rush into a situation that he cannot escape from.’

Mrs Darcy gave him a narrow look. ‘That is not your decision to make, as well you know. Do you have a reason to suspect they would not suit each other?’

‘Did you not see enough last night to confirm that an unhappy marriage is worse than none at all?’

‘That is not to the point, and I do not need the Rushworths to teach me a lesson on that score.’

‘Stop this plotting, I beg you.’

‘Nonsense. You cannot beg while you are lounging in a tub. Get on your knees, if you mean it.’

‘Lizzy.’

‘Fussy.’

He rubbed his face fiercely. ‘I am not in a fit state to be having this debate,’ he muttered, and, relenting, she retrieved her own handkerchief to knot together a fresh bag of ice and press it to his forehead.

‘ _If_ your objection to Mary is only that her brother may — _may_ , for from what I hear he has been refused so far — be married to Mrs Rushworth’s cousin, then I would only ask you to consider that half the respectable society in England may lay claim to being being married to a cousin or a second cousin of ours. It does not mean that we need be in company with them very often.’

‘Half of England does not live in the house next door to us.’

‘Have you any objection to Miss Crawford? In herself, I mean. She _is_ very nearly my friend, you know.’

Mr Darcy cast a bleak look of crumbling resolve at her pleading tones, and, with obvious effort, marshalled his arguments. ‘I am inclined to accuse her of casuistry. I find her very decided in her opinions, for someone whose reasoning is so haphazard, and rather too…forward…in her manner. She is not ready to defend her statements, though she puts them very strongly — almost, I would say, to the point of _wishing_ to shock and offend. She seems to take an unseemly delight in scandal.’

‘Oh,’ said his wife. ‘Well you will have some difficulty in getting me to agree with you there — you know I would not like to criticise a fault in another woman that I recognise in myself. I dare say she would be jogged into a solid rational argument of the particulars of her beliefs if she could only be kept to a single topic, but one cannot expect every joke to be thought through as though for a court of law.’

‘You are _never_ without good reasoning for your arguments,’ he interjected loyally, ‘and when the facts are thin, you are — usually — quite ready to amend your conjectures in the face of new evidence. I have seen no evidence that Miss Crawford is so reasonable.’

‘Or so changeable,’ chided Mrs Darcy. ‘But I am still inclined to like her, if she has done nothing more to offend you.’

‘But she _is_ changeable. She let her brother flirt with Georgiana all night and did nothing to discourage him when she knew he was pledged elsewhere, though she was quick enough to remember how much she liked his intended when the matter came out despite _both_ their best efforts in concealing it beforehand. Can she be a moral sort of woman, to let a girl be led on in such a way in by a guest she has vouched for, and approve her brother’s doing so?’

This was enough to startle her into thoughtfulness, for Mrs Darcy had in truth been so pleased by Miss Darcy’s show of spirit, and so irritated by Mrs Rushworth’s want of manners, that she had not stopped to wonder whether Miss Darcy’s heart might have been touched enough to wound by such an evening’s flattery. It had seemed an unlikely possibility, especially given Miss Darcy’s willingness to laugh at the matter that morning.

At last, she said, a little uncomfortably, ‘She has been in the sort of society where it is quite normal to flirt outside an engagement, I think. One must make allowances for how a lady is raised when considering her behaviour, since so little leniency is given to a woman who goes against the habits of her milieu. And, although I concede she does not know Georgiana like we do, I think it must have been obvious that she was determined to put him off, so it would have been reasonable to think that no harm to could be done to anything save Mr Crawford’s ego by his attempting gallantry. Nor can Georgiana quite be said to be a _girl,_ exactly, since she is not even a debutante anymore — in fact, she is nearly the same age I was when we met.’

‘You had been out in society —‘

‘—in country society. And Georgiana has been out two years in Town. I fancy one year in London must be equal to two or three in Hertfordshire.’

‘You know it is not the same.’

‘Yes — indeed, I think I could put your argument better than you at the moment, and with less risk of insult to myself. But,’ she flicked the bathwater contemplatively, and considered the resultant ripples, ‘to return to the point — I do not think Miss Crawford is the type of woman who flirts by pretending she dislikes a man, so it would not be reasonable to believe she assumes such behaviour in others.’

‘But you do not know that, Elizabeth. You are assuming the best because you wish to think well of her. I do not say you are _wrong_ , exactly —’

‘Heaven forbid,’ she smiled, wanly, and let him lay a kiss on her fingers.

‘But you do not know. You do not know _her_ yet. Can you say you do, when we know so little of her family, her friends, her mode of life, anything other than what _she_ has said of herself? I am sorry for it, my dear, but — ’

Mrs Darcy could not avoid the glum sense of this. ‘No, you are right, I concede. I do not truly know her yet, but I should _like_ to. Very well, then. Will it satisfy you for now if I agree not to purposefully throw her and Richard in each other’s way when we all happen to be in company together? It would not be at all fair to cut her for being a little blind to the faults of her family. That,’ she tapped his forearm for emphasis, ‘is too common a sin.’

Mrs Darcy returned downstairs, via the nursery, drawn by the unmistakable tones of a duet. Somewhat to her surprise, the players in question were not Miss Darcy and Mrs Wentworth. Instead, Miss Bertram, who was apparently content to be sought out by her family rather than returning home of her own accord, had accompanied them inside, and now sat with Miss Darcy, picking through a piece that would need some time to mature before it could be shown before an audience. Mrs Wentworth, reading by the window, put her book down at once and came to sit by Mrs Darcy, distracting Edward with accustomed ease.

Mrs Darcy enquired, quietly, if anything had been heard from number thirteen.

‘Not a bit,’ said Mrs Wentworth. ‘I suspect the atmosphere _there_ is much like that _here_. I should have liked to suggest that the pianoforte might not be what was wanted at the moment, but Georgiana seemed in want of some sound that is not her own voice — and, as you can tell, they are playing very soft.’

‘It cannot be heard upstairs,’ said Mrs Darcy. ‘But all the same, it might be better if we went out again. Perhaps we might go to the Park —if you were serious this morning when you mentioned wanting a new carriage, it would be a sensible first step, since there are always gentlemen driving up and down to show off whatever new fashion they’ve got their hands on. It would give you a chance to see what you like, in any case. It _is_ a little too early now to be fashionable, so you will not see the very best of what is on offer, but we often take the children at this time of day, when it is not so busy.’

Mrs Wentworth thought the expected lack of a crush no impediment, and readily agreed to this plan.

They set off rather closer to the fashionable hour than they had intended, in the end, for Mrs Darcy had inevitably been presented with any manner of things requiring her urgent attention during their brief return to the house. Their party was a large one. Miss Crawford had arrived shortly before their delayed departure, greeted her hostess warmly, and enquired as to whether her brother had yet presented himself for the retrieval of his barouche. When informed of their plans, Mrs Darcy feeling abruptly that she had entirely too many guests in her house when so many therein were indisposed, Miss Crawford had been entirely willing to join their expedition. Miss Bertram, too, chose to join them, and talked merrily with her the whole short walk to Hyde Park, raising her voice so as to be heard over the clatter of the baby carriage that had been carefully lifted down the steps of number eleven.

Miss Crawford, at length, enquired after Mrs Rushworth, whose absence from a gathering of such acquaintances could not fail to be noticed.

‘Maria is in a temper,’ said Miss Bertram. ‘Or she was, at any rate, this morning. I expect she will carry on all day, however.’

Miss Crawford raised her eyebrows, smiling incredulously.

‘I hope she is not unwell,’ said Miss Crawford.

Miss Bertram answered this statement with a sly look at Miss Darcy, whom she seemed to regard after the previous morning and evening as enough of a friend to tease.

‘I should not think so,’ she said. ‘Rather I should blame Miss Darcy for her distemper, if anyone here could be said to be the cause of it. My sister is put out that your brother would not flirt with her last night, as he always used to.’

Mrs Wentworth issued a little reproof at this. ‘That is not fair, surely. Miss Darcy did not encourage Mr Crawford’s behaviour. And in any case, _Mrs_ Rushworth surely ought to regard the flirtations of Mr Crawford with indifference wherever they are directed.’

‘No-o,’ said Miss Bertram. ‘I did not mean that, that Miss Darcy might really be at fault. Not for Mr Crawford. There is no accounting for his taste — oh! I am sorry, I did not mean —‘

Miss Crawford scoffed. Miss Darcy looked torn between insult and amusement, in the manner of one who had had a trifle they did not want abruptly borne away before it could be rejected.

‘But it is only that he did not flirt with _me_ , either, and since I will not oblige her by being vexed at her teasing me about it, Maria must be put out with someone.’

‘You do not think she might be put out with Mr Crawford, on behalf of your cousin?’ asked Mrs Darcy.

Miss Bertram frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Your cousin —’Mrs Darcy looked her question to Miss Crawford.

‘Miss Price,’ supplied Miss Crawford.

‘Oh! No, I don’t think so,’ said Miss Bertram, very decidedly. ‘Maria was not at all happy to hear that Mr Crawford was grown so fond of her, when my mother last wrote — she always thought herself so much cleverer and handsomer than Fanny, she did not like to think that Mr Crawford would even look at Fanny after her. I think it odd myself.’

‘I don’t,’ said Miss Crawford. ‘I think Miss Price a charming girl. She will be the making of Henry, and he will certainly be the making of _her_.’

Miss Bertram shrugged. ‘I suppose so. I am sure I don’t know what we would _do_ with a Fanny Crawford. But then, no one except Edmund has ever really known what to do with Fanny Price, either.’

Miss Crawford looked away at this. Mrs Darcy, perceiving some apparent distress at the girl Miss Crawford championed being so disregarded by her own family, hastened to change the subject. She saw, with some relief, the Park gates nearby, and, urging the party on, enquired whether Miss Bertram had yet had much opportunity to enjoy any of the entertainments offered there.

She had not — although Mr Yates had told her he occasionally met some friends there in the winter to skate, when it was cold enough.

‘Well, yes,’ said Mrs Darcy, ‘Although by entertainment I meant more the displays and rallies, rather than gentlemen showing off their figures. But I will not deny that some of them are very good. Perhaps we ought head for the river and see who is about.’

Miss Crawford laughed at this. ‘I suppose your husband does not mind you admiring the skaters — or perhaps does not know?’

‘Of course he knows! I tell him so whenever he deigns come off the ice.’ She lifted down Edward, who had been confined under protest to the baby carriage with his brother until they reached the park. He promptly stomped on a nearby heap of snow, observing with glee the crackle of the outermost shards of ice, and then began to hunt about for a stick.

Miss Darcy’s little dog, who had accompanied them, joined in this search, and the party soon spread out to take advantage of the space and fresh air. Miss Darcy, by force of habit, kept a watchful eye on her dog and nephew, aided in this by Mrs Wentworth, and, occasionally and less ably, by Miss Bertram, who flitted from one object of interest to another, and between the various members of the party.

Mrs Darcy, taking advantage of this, took advantage of the incumbrance of the baby carriage to lag a little and observe Miss Crawford, wondering anew what to make of her. Miss Crawford, apparently happy with this arrangement, began to chat in a playful, confidential tone.

‘I must thank you for your hospitality last night. I cannot say I have yet enjoyed a dinner more this season.’

Mrs Darcy, who could hardly say the same, looked away a moment under the pretence of fussing over her younger son, who was sitting up and experimentally shaking a rattle within the confines of his carriage. He looked at her, considering, and dropped the rattle over the side of the carriage.

She picked it up, and, after a brief examination, returned it to him.

‘It was certainly a memorable occasion,’ she said at last.

‘Indeed!’ laughed Miss Crawford. ‘But for the right reasons, I hope. I heard from my brother that Mr Rushworth was perhaps a little beyond his limits — I had to ask, after you said he was taken ill. If he was keeping up with Henry, I do not doubt it, since Henry was himself a _little_ in his cups. You were entirely correct in insisting that he did not drive — and it was exceedingly kind of you to see to our safe return home.’

‘I am not surprised,’ said Mrs Darcy. ‘I suppose you must have noticed that none of the gentlemen of our house were much inclined to company when you arrived.’

The rattle was thrown to the ground again. She raised an eyebrow at her son, trying not to let an exasperated smile show too much. ‘Stop that, please.’

Picking it up once more, she examined it, and waved it a little out of reach for a moment, before relenting and returning it to him. He at once put it in his mouth, gumming furiously upon the handle, and gave her a drooling smile.

‘I hope,’ she said, with a guilty recollection, ‘that you were not inconvenienced by travelling home in such company. I would have rather have had you stay the night, but between sending you with Mr Crawford and Mr Yates, or sending you out alone at night, I thought your brother’s company the best choice, even if he was not quite at his best.’

‘I was not inconvenienced at all. I am a woman of spirit, you know. I will not quake at a little adventure. And,’ she lowered her voice, ‘though it would do my reputation no favours to say so, I am not entirely unused to the company of merry men — in my uncle’s house, I mean. Sailors like to drink their meals.’

Mrs Darcy laughed at this, and confessed to Captain Wentworth’s having been the only gentleman present at their breakfast that morning.

‘He is a charming gentleman,’ said Miss Crawford. ‘Mrs Wentworth must think herself very fortunate to have caught him. And at an age when she might rationally not have expected to marry at all — it must be a story to delight women everywhere. I have often felt torn on the subject, myself. I have seen too well the effect of marriage on a woman to like to give up my freedom too young, or perhaps at all, and yet men, as a general rule, do not like old brides — and we are held to grow old so much earlier than they! It is a conundrum.’

‘It is not at all fair,’ agreed Mrs Darcy. ‘One never hears a gentleman referred to as an ‘old bachelor’ in the way one hears ladies disparaged as old maids. And yet, Mary, I think you are being too harsh. Bad marriages ought certainly be avoided, but it is by no means always the case that a woman is diminished by marriage. Vain as it is, I will offer myself as an example —’ and here she was cut off, for the rattle was once again thrown out of the carriage, and this time landed in muck. Mrs Darcy sighed, and put it out of reach. Her son, frowning, reached insistently for it.

‘It is dirty,’ she said, firmly. ‘Spoiled. You may not have it back. You must be more careful with your toys, Cricket.’

She patted his cheek in a conciliatory fashion, and he waved his arms at her, then, finding this had no result, grasped the edge of the carriage firmly and pulled himself onto wobbling feet, reaching for her.

She picked him up, and looked about for her relations, but Mrs Wentworth and Miss Darcy were deep in conversation and were by now some distance from them. Miss Darcy, whose attention had been drawn the sound of the baby carriage stopping, looked back at them, and paused as if to come back, then recalled herself and looked about for Edward instead.

‘I will do it,’ said Miss Crawford, dropping her purse in the empty interior and taking the handles. 

They walked on a little longer in silence, before Mrs Darcy remembered the previous direction of their conversation. She looked sidelong at Miss Crawford, wondering whether, in the light of Miss Crawford’s low opinion of marriage, it would be wise to broach her speculations upon Colonel Fitzwilliam.

‘Mrs Wentworth is lucky,’ she said at last, ‘but I am not surprised that she found a husband to suit her, in the end. She has a delicacy of character that would not allow her to accept an offer that was only superficially advantageous, but she has _always_ been highly thought of by those who know her well. I would say Captain Wentworth is quite as lucky to have her as she is to have him.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Miss Crawford, doubtfully. ‘It will certainly be advantageous for him, to have married into a family that can provide him with such connections as she has. Such rapid promotion as we have had in the navy these past years must now be at an end — at least for those ranked above a lieutenant’s pay —and he will find advancement on shore easier that way.’

‘Mary,’ she said, ‘If you will persist of thinking of marriage only in terms of material advancement, I cannot wonder at your thinking it a bad bargain. I will not say that such things ought not be considered at all, but I was speaking of compatibility of character and mutual affection, in considering it a good match.’

‘Do you think their characters very alike, then?’ asked Miss Crawford. ‘It did not seem so to me, but then, I have had only one evening’s study.’

‘No, not really. But I do not think characters need to be entirely alike to be compatible —indeed I think the opposite is more often the case. I am very like my youngest sister,though I flatter myself that I have allowed age to make me more sensible, and we are forever at odds. She reminds me of the things I like least about myself, and I suppose the same is probably true of me in her opinion, which perhaps explains why she is so resistant to any advice I give her. And I am not much like my husband in character, but our values and tastes are generally aligned, and so I am inclined to respect his judgement. For the most part.’

Miss Crawford frowned at this, and, straining, pushed the baby carriage back onto the path, from whence it had begun to stray. ‘This is rather more difficult than it looks,’ she said. ‘It seems to want to hare off in half-a-dozen directions at once. I had been considering learning to drive a curricle before today.’

‘A curricle is easier,’ said Mrs Darcy. ‘Or so I am told. I suspect it is only a matter of practice.’

‘Taste,’ exclaimed Miss Crawford breathlessly, giving the carriage a shove, ‘I have in abundance. Values, I am not so certain of. Oh, I have the ordinary sort — peace, respect for property, love of family, admiration of the arts, respect for accomplishment, and so on. But every person in England would say the same, if asked. If commonality of values were as important as you think, surely there would be universal concord. Yet there is not.’

‘You speak in generalities,’ said Mrs Darcy. ‘I meant something more precisely defined. And in your case, I wonder if it might not be more useful to begin with those things that you do _not_ like or value.’ She hesitated, and, recalling Miss Crawford’s previous statements, said uncertainly, ‘you do not mention religion amongst the things you value.’

Miss Crawford coloured in a way that could not be entirely attributed to her present exertions. ‘You are thinking of my discussion with Mrs Rushworth last night, I suppose.’

‘In part.’

‘It is not — I do not mean that I am irreligious, although I am by no means fanatical. My sister’s husband is a minister, and I attend services twice a week when I live with them. I dare say I attend more closely than he does, for his sermons are never less than half recycled, and always short, since he is more concerned with his dinner than with anything else. You could not have known, but our conversation bent on Mrs Rushworth’s brother’s recent ordination — I understand he is, in time, to have the living that my brother-in-law currently occupies, although for now he has been parcelled off to a rather more modest living for who knows how many years. Mr Edmund Bertram seems capable man, and still young, and, having met him over the summer and seen his prospective congregation, I thought it a shame that he should throw himself away reading lectures to his father’s tenants. I dare say the church does much good for complacent younger sons who want for an inheritance, but a man with ability and connection could do — _should do_ — better for himself.’

Mrs Darcy, who was surprised to hear the internal interests of a family she had never met discussed so freely, wondered a little at Miss Crawford’s giving such a decided opinion on a career apparently long planned, especially on so slight an acquaintance as she described. But if Mrs Rushworth’s behaviour was indicative of her family’s, perhaps the brother was direct in his habits, and easy to form an opinion of. And, she recalled, Mrs Rushworth’s brother had been vaguely spoken of by both Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam as a fast young man.

‘Did Mr Bertram seem to you much disinterested in his future career? I myself would not approve of a gentleman taking a living if his character seemed opposed to the duties required of him. A minister has the power to do much good and ill in his community, by action or indifference.’

‘He did not seem to think any other career worth his while,’ said Miss Crawford. ‘But I had supposed that to be only the influence of his family. I believed some outside influence might induce him to consider...but it did not. He wants some firmness in his character.’

‘Well!’ exclaimed Mrs Darcy, teasingly. ‘That is a start. For your values, I mean. Firmness of character, and a wish to use your influence where you may. Now all you need is some cause for good that you may bend your will upon, and I believe we will have enough of your moral code established to be going on with. Shall we ask Mrs Wentworth’s opinion on what you might choose to champion?’

Mrs Wentworth, who was as a result of Miss Crawford’s determination now only a little ahead of them,turned to ask what she meant.

Miss Darcy gave them an considering look, and, coming close, began to dig in her reticule with an embarrassed murmur. ‘Elizabeth, you have been drooled upon.’

‘I thought I felt a certain dampness. There is a handkerchief in the carriage — oh dear,’ for Miss Darcy’s little terrier, seeing her bent over the carriage, at once dashed over to inveigle himself in the proceedings, ever hopeful of receiving a pat or treat. Edward soon involved himself with equal interest, for the lower part of the carriage was almost certain to contain something of interest, and was usually closed against such infant incursions. Miss Darcy waved a handkerchief above her head in mock defeat even as Miss Bertram joined her in collecting the detritus that had been spilled in the confusion. Mrs Wentworth retrieved Miss Darcy’s makeshift flag and began methodically to correct Mrs Darcy’s appearance, and Miss Crawford leaned over to help gather up the items now piled into Miss Bertram’s arms. She came up with a pleased exclamation, a soft red ball in her hands, the bell inside jingling cheerfully.

Richard, observing it with delight, reached out his hands.

‘Do not give it to him, pray,’ said Mrs Darcy, but too late, for Miss Crawford had already proferred the ball, and it had been unhesitatingly accepted. Richardconsidered it for a moment, chewed it thoughtfully, and then dropped it.

Miss Crawford laughed, and bent down to retrieve it. The baby, leaning over his mother’s arm to look and in the process entirely dragging off her fine indian shawl, observed Miss Crawford with delight, and attempted to again convince her to give him the ball, which she put most reluctantly in the carriage. He angled for it, swinging wildly.

‘I should have expected that. Boys will be boys, I suppose.’

‘He has certainly trained you well,’ said Mrs Darcy drily, endeavouring to rearrange her grip. Mrs Wentworth stepped back and observed her redingote with a critical eye. ‘It will have to be washed, but I think that is the best that can be done, under the circumstances. Thank goodness it is wool and not silk.’

‘Fortunately, the culprit also presents a solution,’ said Miss Crawford, gathering up the shawl now dangling from the baby’s grip. He pulled experimentally, and she tickled him under the chin, until he laughed and let go. Mrs Darcy caught him up at last, and he hid his face against her shoulder, peering out again in wonder as Miss Crawford adjusted the shawl with expert familiarity.

‘There,’ she said. ‘Quite hidden, so long as our Richard does not move about too much.’ Richard gave her a smile of uncertain adoration, and, when she smiled back, hid his face again in his mother’s shoulder, peering out one-eyed at her.

She stepped back. ‘You are too charming by half, young man.’

‘He is a terror,’ said Mrs Darcy fondly. ‘Is there any creature in society more justly feared than a young man who knows himself to be handsome and charming?’

‘Yes,’ said Mrs Wentworth. ‘A young man who knows himself to be handsome, charming, and rich.’

‘That must be my defence, then,’ declared Miss Crawford, laying a hand upon her heart and laughing. ‘I have declared against second sons without fortune.’

Richard wrapped his chubby fist in the long fringe of Mrs Darcy’s shawl, still faintly scented with the spices of an East Indiaman’s hold, and rubbed it speculatively over his nose.

‘Perhaps he will be a merchant sailor,’ said Mrs Wentworth. ‘He has an eye for good cloth.’

‘Fie,’ said Mrs Darcy. ‘He is a northern lad. If cloth is to be his fate, he will no doubt turn his mind to obtaining a cotton mill.’

‘Either way, better sorts of cloth to aim for than the other,’ said Miss Crawford.

Miss Darcy, having been absent the earlier part of the conversation, looked doubtful at this, and then, when Miss Bertram whispered in her ear, indignant. ‘My brother has a great deal of regard for the church. I am sure if Richard ever _wishes_ to be a minister…’

‘Then we will all be subject to thundering sermons, I suspect, and Uncle Matlock no doubt will want him propelled into a bishopric so he can shout in the Lords as well,’ said Mrs Darcy. ‘Though in that case my lord will have to outwit Colonel Fitzwilliam, since he lately has much to say on the excellent prospects a younger son might find for himself in the army — presuming the gentleman in question has some sense and vigour to his character. Miss Crawford will, I am sure, agree with me — given your defence of the army last night?’

She glanced at Miss Crawford, who appeared to receive this with tacit praise of Colonel Fitzwilliam with pleasing approval.

‘I will,’ said Miss Crawford. ‘And I will even go so far as to say that Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed to be the sort of man who has actually _found_ the prospects you mention, rather than only hoping and expecting that he will one day do so.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading along, everyone, hope you enjoyed this chapter.
> 
> As always, feel free to visit me over at tumblr at ellynneversweet.tumblr.com


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